


Neon (Midnight City)

by Anonymous



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Awkward Crush, F/M, Guns, Happy Ending, Hero Worship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, Minor Violence, No Sex, Not Between Billy and Max, Older Billy Hargrove, Running Away, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26026690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Running away from home, Max takes the next bus out of San Diego. She survives on the streets of Las Vegas for three weeks before meeting Billy.-“You’ll be okay, just a scratch.” When Billy blinks and turns his eyes on her, they’re such a bright blue that Max can’t meet them for long. “Can you walk? You shouldn’t be out here, it’s dangerous…” He perks up after a second, squeezes her wrist a little when he blurts, “Shit, you’re that little girl who almost kneed me in the balls a few weeks ago.”“Leave me alone,” Max whimpers, crumbling to the concrete and wrapping her arms around her head. She wants to cry, so much pain in her little body, but even now she swallows it until only her back shakes. When a hand settles on the tremor, strangely gentle for a man, Max flinches under it. “Go away!”“Look kid, it’s either you come with me or I’m calling the cops. I’m not leaving you here all banged up and half dead.”From the safety of her arms, Max snaps, “What do you care? You don’t know me.”“I know enough,” he grunts. “Now, are you gonna play nice if I pick you up? I ain’t Jeffrey Dahmer, I just wanna get you off the street. Will you let me help you?”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Maxine "Max" Mayfield
Comments: 42
Kudos: 49
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It is I, the author of Anonymous Maygrove fics such as "Pickle Juice," and "Left Handed," and "Bros." We just passed 3k hits on "Pickle Juice" yeeeey!
> 
> So this story came to me in a fever dream of PMS sadness after talking about a Maygrove _Leon: The Professional_ AU. This is not as cool as that. More focus on Max's crush and a lot less murder and guns. Although there is still a gun and gun violence present in the fic, so look out for that. No sex! This is basically a gen fic to me. Like yea, it's a ship fic, but they don't DO anything. Sex just didn't make sense for the tone of this fic OR Billy's characterization. You'll see.
> 
> Enjoy six weeks of this. Lemme know just how much you enjoyed it lol. I know there will be little interest in this, so your comments are even more impactful. Edit: This story is 100% complete on my end, updates on Fridays!

The clerk of this little snack shop is caught up in conversation with some burly dude with surfer hair. Perfect. Max has loitered in the store, away from the Las Vegas heat, for damn-near ten minutes. Just waiting for the woman’s guard to drop. She has eagle eyes. Unless another customer walks in, Max is aware of that narrowed gaze on her. Sure, it’s been a week since the Greyhound that brought her here. A week of sleeping outside… Her clothes smell, and her hair is shiny with grease, flat. She’s broken out pretty badly along her jaw where she rests her head in her arms at night as a makeshift pillow. What’s worse is the continuous growl in her stomach. The City of Sin provides many things on the streets, but Max can’t convince herself to eat from dumpsters. So stealing it is.

The sandwiches resting in the open cooler wrapped in wax paper are the best choice. The plastic wrapped ones are too loud when you touch them. The fresher things are on the counter with the register. Completely out of Max’s grasp. Tossing one more glance to the pair chatting at the front, Max swipes what she wants. Under the waistband of her jeans it goes, pinched between the denim and her body. She’s oily all over and wishes so much she could trust the people who make little noises at her like she’s a cat. Promising all sorts of things if she’d just come with them. She’s a runaway, but she’s not stupid. No, Max knows if she steps off the street and into a private residence or car, she is lost. Not that she has enough money stolen from her mom’s purse to buy a ticket back to San Diego anyway.

Max has her hand on the push bar of the door, heart in her throat, when fingers wrap around her upper arm.

“Hey sweetheart, you gonna pay for that sandwich?”

She startles hard like a dog caught in a snare. The hand around her arm is iron, does not give. Max’s panicked ears hear, “Hey,” and, “Cool it, red!” but her thrashing continues.

“Let me go!”

A sharp knee connects with the man’s thigh instead of Max’s intended target. It still manages to pop a grunt out of him. She’s weak with hunger, yes, but she’s also desperate. She’s not so old that her wild, childhood strength has abandoned her. Max rears a foot up to kick this time. In slow motion, she watches the clerk behind the counter roll up a newspaper and march around towards them. To hit her or the guy wrestling with her, Max doesn’t know. She just stomps on the guy’s ankle and rips herself out of his hand when that iron rusts a little.

The push door flies open with a harsh twinkle of the bell banging into the glass. But she’s free, sandwich still caught in her jeans. So Max runs straight into the street to cross the road. The heat hits her like a jab to her gut, a slap to her face, but she hauls ass across the concrete anyway. There are no cars in her path during her frantic escape, but they block the path of anyone who would pursue her. Max does not glance back at the man or clerk as she slips into an alley, dull roar of tires on pavement swallowing any angry calls after her.

She won’t be able to steal from that store again. Huddling in the shadow of an alley, a big box from a restaurant her current shelter, Max sweats as she tries to calm down. The clerk will recognize her. How the hell did that guy catch her swiping the sandwich? Max isn’t a criminal mastermind, no. She’s nicked her fair share of sweets from her local gas station, though. That’s peanuts compared to stealing something bigger, she guesses. It doesn’t matter; the prize is hers. She knows she ought to ration it. Maybe only eat half. Ham and cheese won’t keep in this heat, and the smell will attract rats. In the relative cool of the desert night, they crawl amongst her cardboard and shivering skin. None have bitten her yet. She dreads the fleas they carry and the wounds they can inflict. Hubris has her crying herself to sleep every night. Even home had been better than this.

Max’s thoughts do not dwell on the snack shop, the clerk, or the man who’d caught her. She can’t dwell on much other than the pursuit of shelter from the heat and sun, food, water. Someone opens a fire hydrant in a neighborhood nearby with slumped, brick buildings and too many kids running around. It’s dangerous to get her clothes wet, since they’re her only clothes. The bookbag with clothes and other things was stolen almost as soon as she arrived. Max is desperate for water and some semblance of being clean. So she joins the screaming kids and scrubs at herself with her nails. Some of the kids pick up on how out of place she is. Even amongst the squalor she is a nail sticking its head up. She cannot linger anywhere in broad daylight for long. Any sort of attention is a bad thing. Even from the mothers who stand on their stoops and eye her with concern. So like the rats she sleeps with, Max slinks back into the alleys of Las Vegas to keep out of sight.

Unfortunately, there are other sorts of rats in these alleys. Big men with slick grins. Men with even harsher hands than the one who’d grabbed her in the snack shop. They’re the ones who make little coaxing noises at her when she dares to roam the streets at night. Not looking for anything or any one. Luck leads her to some good things—a shirt discarded to replace hers that is so stiff it scratches her, lost money occasionally. The coaxing of men has no sway on her. Yet. They’ll find her, though.

Every day in the sweltering heat with no relief, little water, no food takes its toll. Max isn’t sure how long she’s been in Las Vegas when she can’t rise in the morning. Everything hurts from sleeping on concrete. Even in the cooler night her skin aches and her lips crack. There is only the wild, rabid struggle left in her when someone picks her up and tries to shove her into the backseats of a car.

“Stop, stop! Let me go!”

Her voice is a shell of what it’d been the last time she screamed that. Someone smacks her across the mouth, forcing her little teeth into her lips and shredding delicate skin. Teeth orange from blood, Max tries to sink them into the hands grappling with her little shoulders, her thin arms. The body of the car blocks the alley as the man grunting and cursing above her tries to force her through the open rear door. The hands on her freeze, though, and even Max draws still. Only the harsh breathing of the overweight man above her rings in her ears.

“Back away,” a voice drawls. “Nice and slow like. Don’t try anything funny.”

Police? No, surely not. They hate the beggars and vagabonds most of all. The hands on Max tighten until she whimpers, that hurts, but they stop trying to force her.

“Come on, amigo, don’t make things difficult for yourself. Hand over the girl.”

The windows of the car are tinted. Even with neon blaring across the street from hotels and casinos, Max cannot make out her savior. Or what exactly has sway over the man holding her captive. When push comes to shove, though, the man spits one more curse and then shoves Max away from him. Another slap straight between her shoulder blades buckles her trembling knees and spills her to the pavement. Then it’s just the scuffing of shoes, the driver’s door opening and closing, and then the car takes off. Little rocks under the tires pelt her, but it’s the least of Max’s worries. Lying on her hip, her hand shakes something terrible as she paws at the holes in her jeans. Her little palm comes away bloody, slick in the neon lights.

“Hey, look at me.”

Max blinks back to herself, stops spiraling as she stares at the blood on her hand. She tastes it too, now, when she whips her head up. Her savior tucks a gun into his waistband not unlike her stealing that sandwich days, weeks ago. He’s the same who’d caught her, but his face is not severe as he squats down next to her. His shadow falls on Max to block the sight of her. Only this time she’s not afraid. People walking at the edge of the alley pay no mind to them. She’s too weak to get away anyway.

He takes her wrist to inspect the blood, cranes his head to see the actual damage. Max’s tumble to the ground busted her knee.

“You’ll be okay, just a scratch.” When he blinks and turns his eyes on her, they’re such a bright blue that Max can’t meet them for long. “Can you walk? You shouldn’t be out here, it’s dangerous…” He perks up after a second, squeezes her wrist a little when he blurts, “Shit, you’re that little girl who almost kneed me in the balls a few weeks ago.”

“Leave me alone,” Max whimpers, crumbling to the concrete and wrapping her arms around her head. She wants to cry, so much pain in her little body, but even now she swallows it until only her back shakes. When a hand settles on the tremor, strangely gentle for a man, Max flinches under it. “Go away!”

“Look kid, it’s either you come with me or I’m calling the cops. I’m not leaving you here all banged up and half dead.”

From the safety of her arms, Max snaps, “What do you care? You don’t know me.”

“I know enough,” he grunts. “Now, are you gonna play nice if I pick you up? I ain’t Jeffrey Dahmer, I just wanna get you off the street. Will you let me help you?”

What’s the worst that can happen? She can’t fight him off anyway. Already Max’s eyes grow heavy, and a wild shiver races over her filthy skin. It’s not even that cold out, maybe in the upper 70s at this time of night. No matter how tightly Max curls up, she can’t get warm. So all manner of terrible things that could happen to her under his care don’t amount to much. Adrenaline leaves Max ice cold and exhausted. She barely gives a whimper when thick arms scoop her up like she’s nothing. If they attract attention as he carries Max, she’s not awake enough to notice. Despite how she smells and the oily grittiness of her skin, she cuddles right up to the soft cotton of the man’s shirt and falls asleep. When she next blinks awake, it’s not to the grime and filth of an alley.

The living room around her is by no means lavish. The couch under her sags; the blanket tucked around her is a bit musty; the scent of frying food lingers in the air. But it’s inside. And despite the smells of this place, the blanket her little hands cling to is so soft, so much better than concrete and cardboard that Max starts to cry. She doesn’t mean to, tries to swallow the tightness in her throat and bite the wobble in her chin. Hot tears leak out of her anyway, but she manages to wrestle control back when feet scuff on carpet. A shadow cuts through the light spilling from the kitchen, the only light on she can see. And then he’s there, sitting in a recliner across the way from the couch. If he’s wearing the same clothes he’d rescued her in, Max can’t remember. He just looks comfortable in a wife beater and loose, grey sweatpants.

“Finally awake, I see. Sleep good?”

She still aches all over, itches for a shower. But Max nods with only her eyes above the edge of the blanket. In the soft quiet of his apartment, Max recalls the glint of his gun and him carrying her away from the alley. Max’s busted knee chooses this moment to remind her of that pain. She tastes blood, too.

“Where are we?”

“My apartment,” he says like he’s bored. “Where else would I take a little street rat?” He grins at his own joke when Max glares at him. “Lucky for you I’m an animal lover.”

His fingers curled around the handle of a mug attract green-blue eyes when he goes to take a sip. The warm scent of a Mr. Coffee machine gurgling in the kitchen finally tickles under her nose.

“I didn’t do anything to you while you were passed out, by the way. You should let me take a look at that knee, though.”

Max sits up faster than she should, winces as her head swims. The urge to defend her honor, that she can patch herself up thank you very much, rises and dies on her tongue. Everything in her is numb, empty. There’s no more fight in her as she sways on her hip, dizzy.

“Give yourself a second, red, Jesus,” he sighs. His mug ends up on the coffee table between them when he goes to stand. “Wait there, I’ll get you some water and something to eat. You allergic to peanuts?”

He lingers long enough to watch Max shake her head. When he steps into the light of the kitchen, digging around in the fridge, Max sits up properly to get a good look at him. He’s definitely the guy at that snack shop who’d caught her stealing. He recognized her despite her deteriorated state, the dark, and how much time has passed. Even on the verge of passing out, Max recognized him, too. She’s not sure she’s ever met someone who screams ‘California’ like he does. He’s the poster child for sandy beaches and waves what with his broad back, strong arms, and the honey glow of him. Max snorts to herself and tears her eyes away just as he turns around, glass of water and a plate in hand.

“Slowly,” he says with a pointed look her way when he sets everything down in front of her. “I am not cleaning up vomit if you gorge yourself, you get me, red?”

“My name’s Max,” she croaks, unable to look away from the food and water he offers. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. If you can keep that down, you can take a shower.” He drops back into the recliner with a sigh and a flick of his hand. “Bathroom’s that way, can’t miss it.”

Max pauses with the scent of peanut butter and jelly under her nose. She’s almost drooling, but she can’t help but grit her teeth, frustrated.

“I don’t have any clean clothes.”

Nothing about him makes her think of the oily, sleazy men who try to entice her on the streets. He could have done all manner of horrible things to her while she was passed out. She has no reason to trust him, but something tells her he isn’t lying. He didn’t force her to come with him. They both know she’s no match for him if he tries anything. It’s that knowledge, that he’s in control, that forces Max to meet the eyes that inspect her across the way.

“Yea and the ones you’re wearing reek, so you’re not putting them back on when you’re done. I’ll loan you a shirt or something.” He nods to the sandwich in her hands. “Just eat, don’t worry about any of that.”

He smokes while he watches her. Max watches him right back, unwilling to let her guard down despite how empty she feels. Her memories of this night are slowly starting to slot into place. That the fat man who’d discovered her collapsed in the alley, huddled in her box, tried to snatch her from the street. Probably to rape her or pass her around to other people. She’s seen the abductions plenty of times since landing here. Max only gets about halfway through the sandwich before she can’t eat any more, has to shove the heels of her palms into her eyes to cover up the burning tears. If he hadn’t come around and stopped everything…

“Hey,” he says all quiet and soft. “It’s okay, you’re safe here. My neighbor is the most nosy old lady you’ve ever seen. She hears everything, and she’ll break the door down if she thinks I’m up to no good. I’m not interested in raping little girls, okay?”

Max huffs and sniffles behind her hands, hating herself for letting him see her cry. Twice now at least. When Max’s hands fall to pool in her lap, fingers playing with each other, she forces her burning eyes up to meet his.

“What’s your name?”

It comes out a lot rougher than she means, voice cracking like she’s a kid again. She feels so small right now, needs him to at least tell her that. Even if he lies and gives her a bogus name, she needs something.

Blue eyes glance to her unfinished sandwich before flicking back up to her.

“Billy. If you can’t eat it all, I’ll put it in the fridge. Don’t force yourself.”

He takes his coffee and cigarette with him when he steps back into the kitchen. Max cannot help the panicked glance she throws at the front door. It’s locked, but if she were quiet, she could beat him to it before he noticed. Does she need to do that, though? There’s nothing stopping Billy from doing whatever he wants. He could be lying about everything just to get her to trust him. Throat winding up tight again, Max forces her bubbling emotions and frustration down. One step at a time. If he’s offering a shower and clean clothes, then she’ll take it. If he wants something in return, well…

Her hand is on the bathroom door, as quiet as a mouse, when Billy’s voice chimes in from the kitchen.

“Don’t take a super hot shower no matter how much you want to. You’re probably dehydrated, and the hot water will make you pass out. So unless you want me to see you naked…”

“Weirdo,” she mumbles under her breath. His comment is wildly inappropriate, but she snorts anyway. Louder so Billy can hear her, she says, “Okay.”

The bathroom door has a lock. Max presses the little nub next to the handle and almost cries when it clicks. She’s finally alone, safe. Even though she wants to just slide down the door and huddle on the floor, holding herself, a shower is more important. She thinks her jeans would stand up without her in them when she peels them off. Will they ever get clean from the filth of the street and her sweating day and night in them? Who knows. If Billy wants to try and wash them, more power to him. Max drops her clothes as far from the tub as she can, worried that they and her are infested with fleas or other creepy crawlies. Her scalp has itched something fierce for the past week or so. A pang in her chest makes her hiccup like she’ll cry again, but she stops it. Billy will hear if she starts wailing now.

Mindful of Billy’s warning, Max coaxes the water to just luke warm. Of course she wants to blast the hot as high as it’ll go. Until it turns her bright red. Just to feel clean again, to feel something other than this emptiness. Max stands with her head bowed in the torrent and wrestles with that emptiness. Maybe… maybe she feels this way because she’s finally safe. As safe as she can be with a stranger who swept her off the street, she guesses. It’s either linger in the nothing or allow the tightness in her throat to overwhelm her. The static of water striking the tub is loud enough to cover up the little gasps she makes. She’s used to muffling her cries. At least her knees don’t buckle despite the tremor in them. They want to bring her to the floor so badly, but she resists even this. She’ll allow herself the release of crying. The warm water mixes with her tears when Max turns her head up like it’s raining, washing everything away.

When she emerges, skin and hair scrubbed raw a few times, Billy is back in the living room. With only the kitchen light on behind him, he relaxes into the recliner with the glow of the TV cutting harsh shadows across his face. Wrapped in a towel, Max lingers in the little nub of a hallway and watches him. He knows she’s done washing. The apartment is nearly silent without the crash of water. Even the TV is turned low. Outside the tight blinds and curtains in Billy’s windows, light bleeds orange across the city. Morning already, the heat sure to follow. It can’t reach her in Billy’s apartment with the AC humming away. She wants to fall asleep right here on the chilly floor, but instead Max stumbles towards the couch. She barely sits for a second before Billy rises, turns a light on, and then kneels in front of her.

“Easy,” he rumbles deep in his throat when Max flinches away from him. Like she’ll kick him again. “Lemme look at the cut on your knee. And I wanna check you for lice before I let you sleep.”

“Lice?”

He glances up at her while flicking the towel wrapped around her. Just the edge so he can see her knee. The rest of her is covered. He’ll need to loan her a shirt, after all. 

“I wanna say I saw you in Lorena’s store two, maybe three weeks ago. You’ve been on the streets the whole time, so it wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve got some critters crawling on you.”

His hands are warm for the chill in here when he touches her. Max can’t wrangle back her flinch, but Billy doesn’t mention it. The dim lamp in the corner he’d flicked on barely gives enough light for him to inspect the clean scrape. Max made sure to be gentle while cleaning it. Her pride huffs and wants her to mention she can patch herself up. There are plenty of pale scars on her knees from falling off her skateboard. But just thinking about her board, her room, everything she left behind stings her eyes. So Max buttons her lip and tries not to whine at the burn of peroxide and the pressure of a bandaid settling over the cut.

“Let me know if that starts to get hot or smells.”

Now she huffs, “I know when something is infected. I’m not stupid.”

Billy turns his eyes up at her, somehow still towering over Max despite kneeling to tend to her.

“You got an awful lot of attitude for someone who ought to be grateful.”

“I didn’t ask you to save me,” she snaps, hating that ‘save’ is the best word for what Billy has done. She’s not a fan of owing people things. “You coulda just let that guy take me. Why do you care?”

“I think most people would stop some sleaze ball from snatching a little girl off the streets,” Billy murmurs with an eyebrow cocked at her. “Could I live with myself if I let that happen? Sure, bad things happen all the time, I’m not Batman. Does it hurt to have a little bit of compassion? No.”

Max says nothing to that, almost disappointed in herself for her sharp tongue. So she bows her head when Billy asks her to as he draws his fingers through her hair, inspecting her scalp. It would feel good, she thinks, if she could claw herself out of the empty feeling drowning her. She just wants to sleep again, hopes Billy will let her stay long enough. Just one night of peace.

Sighing, Billy stands up and once more seeks the kitchen. He washes his hands at the sink, scrubbing for a long time.

“You’ve got something crawling on you, not sure what. Once the drug store at the corner opens at 6, I’ll run over there and buy some shit for your hair. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to cut most of it off.” When Max shrinks down on the couch, biting back a mournful sound, Billy adds, “It sucks, honey, I know. Sort of unavoidable when you’re sleeping rough like you were.”

Max turns pitiful eyes on Billy in the kitchen as he dries his hands and finally pivots on a heel to watch her back. 

“I don’t wanna cut my hair,” she forces out through her tight throat. Everything is horrible right now. It just keeps coming even though she’s finally inside, clean and safe. When will it stop? Is life going to take everything from her?

“I’m gonna try and avoid that, so don’t start crying about it now.” Billy glances to his watch and then back to Max. “You can either stay up for another hour until the drugstore opens or go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up when I come back so you can wash your hair again.”

Max's mouth screws up as another wave of sadness washes over her. She tries to keep the wobble out of her voice when she asks, “Won’t I just get it again when I go back outside?”

Shapely eyebrows come together in the middle as Billy frowns at her.

“What do you mean?”

“When I go back to sleeping outside… won’t whatever I have just come back?”

“You think I’m just gonna turn you loose after this?” Billy huffs a single, humorless laugh and shakes his head. “Come on, honey, I’m not heartless. As long as I don’t catch you stealing from me or playing with my gun, I’m not gonna make you leave.”

She doesn’t mean to bite the hand that feeds but also can’t help her suspicions rising so sharply in her.

Almost glaring at Billy, Max grumbles, “So what do you want?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.”

Max’s hackles rise a little when she says, “There’s nothing in it for you. So you must want something if you’re gonna let me stay here. So what do you want?”

The longer Billy stares at her, bored and relaxed in the recliner, the more Max’s face heats up. She doesn’t… necessarily mean to offer like… sexual favors or anything. Billy had already said he’s not interested in raping her—strange way to phrase that, but whatever. Just because he’s not ‘interested’ in raping her doesn’t mean he wouldn’t fuck her. He wouldn’t be the first grown man to turn eyes on her in that slow, oily way men do. Those devil eyes of his never roam over her once, though. Never linger anywhere inappropriate. So Max just flushes hotter and brighter as Billy finally snorts and shakes his head again.

“Don’t know what soap opera you’ve been watching with your mom, but that’s not how things work. I’m not gonna fuck you in exchange for room and board, so put it out of your mind.” He watches her in soft silence for a breath or two. Before, Max maybe would have squirmed under Billy’s stare. Now she just meets it and waits for him to continue his thought. “If you want, you can tell me how you ended up here. I’m willing to bet you’re not local. That’ll satisfy my curiosity for now.”

It helps pass the hour. Talking about her mom the flight attendant being unaware of the abusive boyfriend. How the next time Susan had come home for a week Max stole enough money for a Greyhound ticket out of San Diego to escape. Las Vegas was the next bus departing that morning that had an open seat she could afford. Max needed to flee the jiggle of her bedroom doorknob at night, to escape other nights where she slept buried in her closet to hide. She wants to unload everything all at once. How the bathroom wasn’t safe, how her laundry would disappear, how quickly her mom’s boyfriend would flip from sickeningly sweet to rotten bastard at the drop of a hat. Max has to stop when she recalls the sting of a belt raining down on her ass and thighs, him sitting on top of her to beat her. She passed out at the time, woke up on the floor with her clothes tugged back into place, her mom none-the-wiser coming home a day later. Living on the streets is worse than that. She just can’t convince herself to go back.

When Billy doesn’t ask if she tried to tell her mom or her school or even cops the truth, Max breathes a sigh of relief. It’s too much shame to bear, to admit the hurt done to her. Billy is the first person she’s told, and even now her face screws up with shame and flushes bright red. Her mom’s boyfriend never got far, never actually put his hands on her except to beat her. Always yelling about Mom being away, being a bad mother and girlfriend. How he had to beat Max because of Mom’s wrongdoing. Like that makes any sort of fucking sense. So it was escape or continue that madness. Max doesn’t regret leaving. She misses her mom. She just wishes someone noticed how bad it got before she fled. If only someone cared enough to notice her quiet suffering.

Billy brings her a t-shirt before he leaves. He has shoes on and keys in his hand, standing at the front door, before Max even flinches to tug the shirt on. He’s gone with a snick of the door. The deadbolt clicks when it slots into place. Only now while alone does the back of Max’s neck sting from nerves. She hasn’t seen the gun since Billy picked her up in the alley. Surely it’s with him. He wouldn’t leave a loaded gun with a stranger. Max rises from the couch with the damp towel looped over her arm and tiptoes around the apartment like she’s avoiding mouse traps. Like Billy is still here and will catch her snooping. Which she’s not, doesn’t even peek into his room through the open bedroom door. There’s no point in poking around his things. He’d said rather explicitly not to steal from him, and Max would rather not soil this thing from the get-go.

So besides refilling her glass of water and polishing off the rest of the sandwich he’d made her, Billy finds Max in the exact spot on the couch he left her. The rustle of a plastic bag perks her up, and she accepts the two, little bottles he hands her. On the coffee table, he tosses down socks, a comb, and a toothbrush.

“Your hair is pretty long, so use both bottles. The instructions say don’t wash your hair for two days, and I’ll buy two more bottles in a week so you can do it again. Fingers crossed the little bastards are lice and die, don’t really feel like making a girl cry while I cut her hair.”

Max nods as she reads over the instructions. She glances up at him when she finally tunes in to Billy’s timeline.

“You’re gonna let me stay with you for that long?”

Billy shrugs, comfortable in the recliner again.

“I mean, I’m not gonna twist your arm. If you wanna go back to sleeping in alleys, I won’t stop you.”

“You’re not gonna call the cops and make them take me back?”

Billy leans forward with his elbows braced on his thighs, looks straight at her when he says, “It’s pretty messed up, what happened to you. I reckon even if cops took you back to your mom in San Diego that shit would start up again. Unless she left him, which isn’t a guarantee. You’ll just run away again, maybe end up even worse than you are right now.” He shrugs again and sits back in the chair. A jerk of his head towards the bathroom precedes, “Go wash your hair. I gotta leave for work in like half an hour.”

Max stands but only makes it a few steps from the couch when she turns and asks, “You’re gonna leave me alone in your apartment?”

He pins her down with a look and warns, “Pretty sure I explained my two rules. Don’t steal from me. And I usually have my gun on me, so that’s one less thing to worry about. If you wanna eat anything in the kitchen, just eat it. I’ll come home today with clothes for you. So just keep outta my room, don’t fuck around, and we can be real peachy keen, yea?”

“I’m not a thief,” Max insists despite the contrary evidence. “I was hungry that day. I don’t steal just for the fun of it.”

“Prove it to me and I’ll trust you. Now get.”

The instructions say to leave the shampoo on for ten minutes. Max smacks the water off and sits on the edge of the tub while she waits. Her watch isn’t waterproof, so it rests on the sink as the minutes tick by. Ten minutes of muffled silence in the bathroom is a good time to… sort through all this. Exhaustion creeps up on her. It’s better than the nothing she’s been battling since waking up on Billy’s couch. She’s still not sure how to feel about him. Some part of her wants to trust him. He didn’t need to do all this. There’s nothing in it for him to do this, just a mouth to feed and money to waste on her. At least he’s leaving for whatever job he has. She’ll sleep better knowing she’s alone in his apartment. For all his promises that he’s not here to molest her, Max cannot shake her fear. It’s too fresh, especially after tonight and then explaining her history to Billy. She just wants to be alone.

Billy must live in a building of mostly old people. Or people without children. Or pets. Max falls asleep to the hum of the AC unit, stirs awake later to the same. She’s not sure what’s awoken her. Of course for that first second she’s fully awake, Max panics a bit. It’s a lot to take in after her second bout of peaceful, comfortable sleep. She eventually rises sleepy and warm from the couch to sip some water, poke around in Billy’s fridge. Hopping up on the counter, Max swings her legs as she snacks. It’s not until now, with a breeze petting up her legs, that Max remembers she’s only wearing a t-shirt. Her clothes were beyond saving, Billy declared, and he threw them out with the rest of the trash hours ago. Even all alone, Max clamps her legs shut and slaps a hand to the bottom of the shirt, tugging it down. It’s a silly thing to be embarrassed about, and she quickly seeks the comfort of the couch again. 

She only rises one more time for the bathroom and more food before Billy finally returns. It’s the front door slamming shut from a kick of Billy’s boot that jolts her into the waking world. Plastic bags rustle in his arms as he marches to the coffee table and dumps his burden there. Max gets a good look at him when she sits up. Something about Billy said to her that he’s a laborer. Mechanic or a construction worker. Something like that. But he’d left in slacks, white undershirt, and a button-up. Not quite formal, but not something a mechanic or the like would wear. He’s not covered in filth or grease either, just smells like cigarette smoke.

Max speaks to Billy’s back as he steps into his bedroom, belt clicking as he tugs it off.

“What do you do for a job?”

“Taxi driver.”

She blinks into the empty doorway.

“Are you joking?”

“Why would I joke about being a taxi driver? What do you think I was doing when I found you last night? ” Billy appears bare from the waist up, shaking his head at her a little. “Just hanging out in an alley? Nah, I was dropping some asshole off from the airport. Talk about right place, right time, yea?”

When Max’s lips purse over a smirk, Billy snorts and then disappears back into his room to finish undressing.

“I don’t know, I guess I thought you did something else.”

“If you were thinking bodyguard or bouncer, you were half right. I did crowd control for a small casino here when I first moved in. Had a guy pull a gun on me and the casino didn’t do shit about it. So I quit and started driving a cab. Cab company presses charges against people like that. Plus they don’t care if I have my gun on me, so fuck it.” He reappears at last in the same t-shirt and sweatpants as this morning. “Level the playing field, you know?”

Max is proud to report to Billy as he gathers up laundry that she’d held down food and water while he was gone. Slept most of the day but didn’t feel sick. So there’s not much to tell when he asks what else she did. It’s a quiet night of the TV glowing in their faces, Billy on the recliner, and Max lounging on the couch. It’s hers to take up as much room as she wants. She’s careful to keep the blanket draped over her, though. The new clothes Billy bought her are in the wash, so she’s still in nothing but his borrowed t-shirt. It was a relief to sleep around all day and just be comfortable. Not once did she wake up because of something crawling on her or because she got too hot. She wants to thank Billy but finds that every time she looks at him, the words tangle in her throat. So she keeps quiet unless Billy talks to her first. The quiet suits them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends, it's Friday. Chapter two, let's go! =3c Oh Max. Silly girl~ Don't forget to drop me a comment ;DDD

Max makes it a little more than two weeks, just long enough for her lice to be clear, before cabin fever sets in.

“Take me with you to work today.”

Billy scowls at her from behind his coffee mug. She’s already dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, lounging on the couch that’s hers now.

“Why would I do a silly thing like that?”

“Because it’s boring here and there’s nothing to do.”

“What, you don’t like TV?”

Max gives Billy’s pointed look right back at him and says, “Please?”

She’s learned a few things about Billy in their weeks together. It’s unavoidable, really; he’s the only other person she sees. But Billy values respect and manners. She’s not sure where that comes from, the story behind it. So taking responsibility around his apartment impresses him. And his praise feels good. When she’d sorted the laundry into colors and whites for him, he grunted his thanks. In the evening when he makes dinner, Max is at the sink washing dishes without needing to be asked or told. He’d stood there staring at her the first time she did it, actually spoke his thanks aloud rather than covering it up. So now, although she would never admit it to Billy’s face, she seeks out his pride and praise. Maybe it’s a little bit of hero worship. Max refuses to investigate it further, just stares hard at Billy like she can will him to agree with her. They’re a stubborn pair.

Grumbling behind his mug, Billy sets it aside before leaning into the conversation.

“I don’t know why I’m saying yes to this, but!” Billy stabs a finger at Max before her grin fully blooms. “You are gonna follow my very specific rules. And if you don’t, then I’m bringing you back here and never taking you again. Understand? I am not your babysitter.”

Rolling her eyes, Max says, “Okay, I get it. Just tell me your dumb rules.”

Blue eyes narrow at her, but Billy doesn’t remark on the sass. That’s another thing she’s learned about him. Billy simultaneously enjoys her wit and loathes her attitude. They’re a stubborn, prickly pair.

“Watch your mouth, first of all. No talking to the passengers. Most of them are just assholes who need to get to the airport. Regardless, no fraternizing. Also don’t make small talk with me. I have the radio going to prevent that exact thing with the passengers, I don’t need it from some teenager. And finally, when I stop to piss, you better follow the leader, get me?”

She scowls at that, pride twitching from him treating her like a child. But those are pretty easy rules to follow. If she’s on her best behavior this time, then Billy won’t fight her as much when she asks next time. 

It’s that thought that has her sighing, rolling her eyes, and saying, “I won’t talk to anybody or you, and I’ll try to piss on command. Are we good? Can we go now?”

He’ll give in because he likes her. At least Max is pretty sure Billy likes her. Enough to let her hang around, sleep on his couch, eat his food. Once he’d given her the all-clear for her hair, she thought for sure that would be the end of this gravy train. Not so. Nearly another week later and she’s still here. He’s never once threatened to throw her out or anything like that. Not even when he woke up an hour before his alarm to her scrubbing a bloodstain out of the blanket she sleeps with. And Billy hates waking up early. No, he just waited until the drug store opened at six to grab her more things she needed. He then took over clean-up duty so she could shower. No ridicule from him to pile on top of her fierce shame. Max can’t express how grateful she is that Billy spared her that. Or that he found her before her period could hit while she was still sleeping rough. Even now, piling into Billy’s car to drive to the cab lot, she has no idea how she would have handled that on the street.

She’s buckled up in the passenger seat of the cab, craning her head to look at the meter and the CB radio just below that, when a man leans on the open window beside her.

“Huh that’s funny. Didn’t think Billy had a kid.” He leans closer despite Max’s eyes narrowing in warning. “What’s your story, little lady?”

The driver’s door opens and shuts. Billy’s weight rocks the car as he drops into it.

“Stop bothering her, Frank, she’s outta your league.”

‘Frank’ snorts and finally leans off the open window. Max tries to catch Billy’s eyes as he gets situated in his seat, but Billy is evasive. So Max ignores the conversation volleyed through the open window.

“But no, seriously Billy, you got a kid running around we didn’t know about?”

Billy grimaces while plucking a fresh cigarette from his pack. The plastic crinkles a bit when he tucks it back into his breast pocket.

“She’s… my girl’s kid. I’m watching her. Summer vacation, you know.”

The cab rumbles to life just as Frank muses, “Didn’t think Cheryl had a kid either…”

“Watch your toes,” Billy snaps before backing out of the space, not at all concerned for Frank’s toes.

Max keeps quiet for their first pick-up at a resort. Sure enough, their destination is the airport. She doesn’t keep quiet because of Billy’s rule about talking. No, her lips remain firmly shut as she mulls over the new thing about Billy she’s just learned. This one sits heavy and unpleasant in her gut like too much greasy food. It’s one thing for Billy to lie about having a girlfriend and then that girlfriend having a kid. That’s an easy lie to tell. But his co-worker Frank producing a name? And he’s familiar enough with this… ‘Cheryl’ to know whether or not she has children? Max frowns as she stares out the window. Then the girlfriend must be real. Billy has never mentioned her, and Max has certainly never seen her. The name ‘Cheryl’ is the greasy, heavy thing that sits like a stone in Max’s stomach and keeps her quiet as they drive all over the city.

When they stop for lunch, Billy idling in a ‘no parking’ zone near a food truck, he bursts her bubble.

“So, what’s got you pouting all damn day, huh? Is it something Frank said this morning?”

Max glances up from the paper boat in her lap, oddly enough discolored with grease from the burger she’s only half eaten. She’s been picking sesame seeds off the bun for a minute or so.

“Maybe I’m just being quiet like you told me to.”

Billy snorts with the straw of his soda in his teeth.

“Yea, cuz you always do what I tell you to the first time without an attitude.” 

Max whips her head to face Billy and spits, “You told me to be quiet, so I am! You wanna read me the riot act for following your dumb rules?”

“Okay kid, your attitude is at an 11 right now, I’m gonna need you to bring it down to like a 2.”

“Whatever,” Max scoffs, turning her head back to the window to end the conversation.

Billy barking, “Hey,” at her makes Max jump in her seat. His hand looping in front of her face to grab her chin and force her around cows her all the more. She won’t meet his eyes when Billy says lowly, “Enough with the sass or I’m taking you home. Tell me what Frank said that got under your skin.”

“Why do you care?”

From the top of her vision, she catches Billy rolling his eyes.

“Because it’s important, Max. If he said something inappropriate I didn’t hear, I need to know.”

“He didn’t say anything… weird or gross,” she reasons, shoulders climbing up the longer Billy stares at her with his lips rolled flat. Pissed off. It’s not a look she sees on him too often. They’re usually so calm around each other, if a little prickly. “I mean it, he wasn’t being a creep.”

Billy’s grip at Max’s chin gentles but does not retreat. Everything wound tightly inside Max loosens a bit, too. She doesn’t want Billy pissed off at her. But to tell him how she’s been chewing on the name ‘Cheryl’ like a cow with its cud, well… Now her face heats up as her jealousy comes roaring back.

Still low but not as harsh, Billy tries again with, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Max cannot throw her head around like she wants to with Billy’s ugly fingers holding her steady. So she sighs and just leans the weight of her head into his grip. She avoids his eyes when she admits the truth.

“I didn’t know you have a girlfriend. So it felt weird for you to lie about who I was. Cuz I thought you were joking, but if Frank knows her name, then she’s real so…”

Billy hums, draws his hand away slowly. Max shifts her jaw to chase away the phantom pressure of his touch. Her face is still a little flushed under a lock or two of hair that shields her. If he looks at her.

“Yea, I got a girlfriend. Well, more like a girl I fuck occasionally, we’re not sweethearts or any of that bullshit.” Max again watches Billy mull something over before he shoots her a look. “She’s a prostitute, if you’re gonna have a problem with that.”

“I don’t care,” Max grumbles under her breath. 

“Seems like you care an awful lot, actually. What, are you jealous or something?”

Max’s silence would be an omission of guilt, so she whips her head around to stare out the window and huff, “No, don’t be stupid. I just don’t want a lie like that coming back to bite you in the ass. It’s weird to keep a 14 year old in your apartment.”

Heat slips into the car with cruel fingers when Billy pops his door open, murmuring, “You don’t gotta tell me that,” before he stands from his seat. “Gimme your trash, I hate the smell of food in here.”

He must be satisfied with her explanation if he drops the topic like that. Or he just doesn’t want to lift the rotting log on Max’s jealousy to see the squirming thing living under it. Max would rather they leave it alone, can’t dwell on how tight and burning her jealousy leaves her. And the shame for that jealousy just makes her burn hotter. Why is she jealous over some faceless woman? What does she care if Billy has a girlfriend? He’s an adult man; it’s not exactly weird for him to be seeing someone, even if it’s casual. Max just pushes it all away and tries not to meet the eyes of that squirming thing inside her. She’ll see her own face staring back at her, and she can’t make sense of that right now.

The rest of Billy’s fares pass with enough interest to make the day go by quickly. Mostly airport rides, some day drunks, a few morons Billy eventually kicks out. It’s enough to make Max want to come with him again if he’ll let her. Their ruse is already drawn up. May as well play into it. The stiff, awkward silence between them never quite clears up, though. The drive to the cab lot is quiet except for the radio still turned low. The drive home in Billy’s car is a rinse and repeat. Billy only speaks up when he murmurs something about a shower before shutting the door on his words. Max’s jealousy retreats to the depths of her and leaves her hollow. It’s a different sort of emptiness from when Billy had first brought her here and let her decompress. This hollowness is full of self pity and shame. It only grows heavier over dinner when Billy mentions Cheryl again.

“I guess it was a blessing in disguise that Cheryl was brought up today. I forgot she was supposed to come over tonight and pay me a visit.” An eyebrow cocks up at Max when she just glances at him. “If you know what I’m saying.”

His coyness just burns her more. He’s always saying inappropriate things around her. Just on the side of wrong, on the side of risqué. Not to be a creep. That’s just how Billy is: a little wrong. Max sleeping on his couch won’t deter him from seeking Cheryl’s company.

So Max just shrugs and twirls up another mouthful of spaghetti on her fork.

“I’ll just leave the TV on tonight. It’s fine.”

Parked in front of the TV on their respective sides of the coffee table is how they usually spend their nights. The silence suits them. After the emotional rollercoaster today and knowing it’s only going to get worse when Cheryl arrives and takes Billy away, Max just wants to sleep. It’s early, not even dark outside, when she tugs her blanket over herself and settles into the nest of cushions, pillows, and blankets. She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but Max stirs awake to Billy’s empty recliner and his bedroom door firmly shut. The TV is almost loud enough to cover up their moans.

Max instantly regrets waking up to Cheryl moaning Billy’s name on repeat. Instead of giving in to her piping-hot jealousy, Max scowls through the swell of emotion that tries to choke her. It’s easier to funnel her feelings into anger than deal with them directly. Spying the remote on the coffee table, Max slaps a hand out for it to turn the TV up louder. If they hear it over themselves, she doesn’t care. Max rolls over and leaves her back to the coffee table. With her blanket pulled over her head and the rest of her pressed to the backrest, Max creates a bubble of safety around her. It’s what she did sleeping in her cardboard box. It makes her feel safe when the world around her sucks so fucking much. When she’d wrestled with the idea of Cheryl being here, taking up Billy’s time and attention, Max didn’t know how awful it would make her feel. Hearing them makes it real, makes it unavoidable to think about.

So she’s very much awake, blanket covering her head, when Billy’s bedroom door opens sometime later. With the TV turned up louder, they don’t need to muffle their voices. They share a brief conversation—stay safe, you too, be careful out there, call me again sometime. Max’s ears strain to pick up any notions of love or a kiss goodbye. Billy must walk Cheryl to the door, because the deadbolt clicks into place after the door opens and shuts. He lingers for a moment. Maybe waiting for Cheryl to get to her car; maybe to hear or see her drive away. Max holds her breath as she waits for the dramatic, lonely sigh she knows is coming. Evidence of Billy’s deeper feelings, that Cheryl is not just a girl he sleeps with, that he wants more but can’t reach it.

Billy’s sigh never comes. He groans through a stretch maybe, hums as he loiters in the living room. Max continues to hold her breath when soft footsteps approach the edge of the couch. Body still as a corpse, Max waits for whatever will come next. She cannot see Billy with her back to the room and her blanket covering her head. But she knows he’s there. The static charge of another living creature so close to her tells her so. It’s only because of that energy that Max stifles the flinch that wants to rip out of her when Billy peels the blanket back a little. Cool air pets her exposed ear, her face. Max focuses on the babble of the TV to keep calm and not give away just how awake she is. Billy doesn’t make it easy for her when… when his fingers tangle in her hair and pet her a few times.

Now comes the sigh she’s expected. Billy tucks a red lock or two behind Max’s ear as he towers above her. Max almost wants to give herself away and open her eyes to see what he’s doing. If he’s looking down on her, what expression might mar his normally stern resting face. Why would he seek her out after his tryst with Cheryl? Isn’t his tolerance for human contact just about used up? Billy hates people, complains about them all the time. He likes her, she thinks, but he barely tolerates her when they’re at each other’s throats. So why this? Why his tender caress when Max’s insides are about to turn to rot over him and Cheryl and their carnal noises? Max’s chin wobbles despite herself, and she feigns like she will wake if Billy keeps touching her. He sighs again and then removes his hand. He tucks the blanket back around her before leaving. Max doesn’t risk an unsteady breath until Billy’s bedroom door shuts with a soft snick.

Once Billy is gone, Max sits up like a shot and twists around to stare at his door. Her little body heaves for breaths like she’s run a mile. The side of her head Billy pet so gently tingles like his fingers tangle in red locks once more. Max even reaches up to card her own fingers through the strands. If only to chase away the sensation of him. What the hell was that? She’s not weirded out or uncomfortable—she should be, she recognizes, but she trusts Billy too much to be wary of him now. Billy just doesn’t touch people like that. Hell, for the most part, unless Billy needs to assert himself over her, he never touches Max in the first place. There is always a bubble around them that they don’t often cross. The most he’s touched her was right at the start with her knee and checking her for lice. So why this tenderness now?

It upsets her more than it should. It shouldn’t mean anything. Maybe Billy had just wanted to do it, who knows. Max wants to know, and the unknown eats her up. She tries to go back to sleep, but no matter how long she lies there, sleep never comes. Frustrated with herself and on the verge of angry tears, Max paces the living room. She turns the TV off, head too full of mental noise to deal with late-night snake oil salesmen. Now, only the light above the stove spills warm, yellow light across the floor. Max tries to walk off all the thoughts chasing their tails in her mind. They don’t have to settle and quiet completely. She just needs them calm enough to let her go back to sleep, damn it. She can’t stop herself from replaying Billy’s concern today in the cab and then his moment of tenderness before. What does it all mean? Does he care about her? And if so, why?

Max drops all her weight onto the couch at once, back to her nest, to mull everything over. Like a sceptic experiencing a UFO, she seeks calmness and something rational. Max’s thoughts screech to a halt when Billy’s bedroom door opens and he appears. With the TV off, the shock of her breaths through her little nose are painfully loud to her ears. More so when Billy wanders into the swath of light from above the stove and tunes into green-blue eyes watching him. Billy meets her stare with his cigarette and lighter halfway to his mouth. He must not be able to sleep either. Without a glance down to her watch, Max isn’t sure what time it is. She won’t be the first to look away, waits to check the time until Billy sighs and approaches his recliner. It’s not quite midnight. Billy normally starts his day at five. It’s going to be a long day at work for him if he can’t find sleep soon.

Getting comfortable in his chair, Billy says with his voice rolled over gravel, “Burning the midnight oil with me, huh?”

“I guess.”

Something tips him off. Either the way Max mumbles or maybe how she won’t look at him. Something plucks a cord in Billy. He always knows when she’s keeping something from him. Like today when he’d hounded her about Frank and Cheryl. Of course this is just an extension of Max’s twisted feelings. Of course her shame has to continue.

“Couldn’t sleep? Had a bad dream?”

“Something like that.”

Billy pinches the filter of his cigarette and considers it while a wisp of white smoke curls around his head. He is something otherworldly as he sits there like a king on his throne. It’s not until his heavy stare zips across the room and pins her down that Max notices Billy’s state of dress. Or lack of dress. After fucking Cheryl, he must have tugged sweatpants back on and nothing else. They sling low on his hips even as he sits, the V of muscle leading down visible. Max forces her eyes to stay on Billy’s lest he catches her ogling him. She’s suffered enough shame and embarrassment today. 

Billy takes another drag before speaking with smoke pouring over his lips, “Lemme guess, you heard me and Cheryl going at it. If you’ve got a problem with her, I suggest you get over it.”

“I don’t have a problem with her,” Max sneers back at him.

“Yea like how you ‘didn’t care’ about Cheryl being my girlfriend when you found out.” Billy shifts in his chair, knees falling wider open as he relaxes. He chuckles behind his cloud of smoke and muses, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you  _ are _ jealous and just don’t wanna admit it.”

“I’m not!”

It sounds weak even to her ears. Billy will dig his fingers into that weakness and pry her open. 

Scrambling for a loose end to trap him in, Max juts her chin out and fires back, “Funny you haven’t mentioned why you’re awake. You’re the one who has to work in like six hours. Don’t you need your beauty sleep?”

Snorting behind his cigarette, Billy narrows devilish eyes at her. She can play that game too, glares right back at him. If he thinks he can win this just by being a prick, he has another thing coming. That would probably work on most girls, hell most teenagers really. Not on Max. Billy hates everyone and everything. She’s more sure than ever that he has a soft spot for her. So his meanness won’t work as well, because Max has peeked behind the veil. Max reminds herself that Billy never had to save her, give her a place to stay, feed her. None of it. He just did it because he wanted to without knowing anything about her. She did indeed try to knee him in the balls when he caught her stealing. Yet he helped her anyway. It means something.

Billy stubs out the last of his cigarette. When he exhales smoke for the final time, he considers Max with his tongue in his teeth. He grins like that sometimes while flirting with waitresses. If they’re pretty. He’s not grinning now, but he isn’t pissed off either. Max knows her attitude annoys Billy. Sometimes he appreciates her wit. If he’s particularly chuffed, he’ll even call her clever. It doesn’t carry the same patronizing as ‘smart ass,’ so Max knows he genuinely means the compliment. Max craves Billy’s proud huff of laughter when she impresses him. So when he gives her that exact thing, rubbing a hand over his jaw to cover it up, Max lifts her chin even higher. 

“Never you mind why I’m awake,” Billy drawls. “We should both be asleep.” Still cupping his jaw, Billy considers her with a puckered look. When he drops his hand, he rises from the recliner in a smooth motion. “Scoot over.”

Billy already shuffles closer when Max perks up. Not once has Billy sat on the couch with her. It’s her space, pretty much. Billy doesn’t even ask Max to fold up her blankets and return the couch to its natural state during the day. She just leaves her blankets and pillows where she wants. So she scrambles to clear the spot Billy heads towards—the corner cushion where she usually rests her head. Max retreats from that cushion to claim the remaining two as Billy drops his weight and sighs as he relaxes. He doesn’t quite sprawl out like he does on the recliner. The couch isn’t a throne. He still looks comfortable in the space when he leans forward to swipe the TV remote up.

“This is why I don’t have TV in my bedroom,” he says with the glow of the screen flicking across his face. “I’d be too tempted to stay up late and watch shit. But it’s a good way to get tired.”

“You wanna watch TV with me?”

Billy dumps the remote on the side table to his left, shrugs, and points out, “It’ll pass the time. Unless you don’t want to.”

Why he wants to sit on the couch with her is the part that stumps her. Max battles with her strange feelings for Billy all the time. The hero worship she refuses to name, how he’s charming but also a huge asshole. The fact that she wants to be close to him like this. That desire shames her at the same time. Billy wouldn’t want anything to do with her. It would be weird; he’d get weirded out, maybe make her leave. Billy again is the picture of relaxation and comfort on the couch. His mind must not run endless laps like Max’s. Billy’s skin must not be hyper aware of how close they are. He’s close enough for his body heat to roll off and brush against Max. When she sits there blinking at him instead of the TV, he flicks his eyebrows up and down at her.

Maybe it’s the night that makes him bold. Or the calmness between them. Something in Billy draws his hand up to cradle Max’s shoulder and squeeze her.

“Lie down, honey, I’ll probably be up for a while.”

Desperate to not appear foolish, Max huffs and gives a little shrug. Like she wants Billy’s hand off her. The warmth and calluses remain until Max gives in, slips down first to a hip and then her side. The pillow she uses under her head ends up shoved beside Billy’s thigh. Almost like she’ll rest her head on him instead. The thought crosses her excited mind, but Max bottles the shiver that tries to race through her. She can’t do anything crazy. Like sit back up, lean over Billy’s lap, and kiss him. That would be crazy. She doesn’t want to kiss him anyway! He’s a jerk and gross and has a girlfriend. Who isn’t really his girlfriend, according to him. There’s nothing between them, Billy had said. He certainly didn’t seem to miss Cheryl when she left. Max does shiver now as Billy’s hand rests on her upper arm. He’d stood above her barely an hour ago and pet her hair, thinking about her. Not Cheryl.

“Late night TV sucks,” she mumbles with her cheek pressed to her pillow. “Why do people try to sell bullshit right now? Nobody is awake.”

He chuckles warm and light above her, squeezes her pale arm when he points out, “We’re awake.”

“Yea but we’re not dumb enough to buy this crap.”

A softer hum this time. Max opens her mouth to continue belittling the sham they’re watching. Billy’s hand lifting up and settling on her head stops her. He doesn’t pet her like before, just rests his hand on her. And scratches his fingers through thick locks to touch Max’s scalp. A harsh shiver begins at the nape of Max’s neck before echoing out. Surely Billy feels it.

“Go to sleep,” he says with amusement thick in his drawl. “If you’re not up when I’m getting ready, I’m leaving you here.”

That gets Max’s heart to skip a beat. Billy will let her tag along with him at work again. She hadn’t annoyed him enough to turn him off to the idea. To Max, it means Billy wants her there. It would be easier to leave her here, not have to worry about her acting up or attracting unwanted attention. Billy had to tell off the guy he eventually kicked out. His drunken slurs started to veer towards Max instead of the weather, politics. That’s where Billy drew the line. So the fact that he’d suffer that again just to bring her along…

Swallowing hard, Max nuzzles her pillow and mumbles, “Good night.”

Billy doesn’t wait long to start petting her hair. She’s not trying to fool him into thinking she’s asleep, either. Max smiles in the ghostly blue light of the TV and hunkers deeper in her nest. With Billy close, she finds sleep, but it has no staying power. Every time he shifts or makes to take his hand away, Max jolts right out of her light slumber. Too tired to lift her hand and check the time, Max isn’t sure when Billy shushes her back to sleep, petting her again. It almost tickles when his thick fingers tuck hair behind her ear. The last time Max startles awake, it’s to Billy’s hands scooped under her to bring her back to her normal spot. The couch is plenty long for her to sleep on just the other two cushions. He sets her to rights anyway, clearly intent on returning to his bed to sleep the rest of the night.

Barely awake, too comfortable in her cocoon, Max thinks she dreams Billy petting hair off her forehead. It’s got to be a dream when his lips follow, pressing a soft, quiet kiss just above her eyebrow. Max gives him a little noise and rubs her cheek on her pillow again. He should stay, should sleep next to her on the couch. Or pick her up and carry her to his bed. That’s a sleepy, silly thought. Max smiles through it anyway, falls back asleep to Billy’s deep voice rumbling in her ear.

“Sweet dreams, honey.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been enjoying the dad energy Billy has in this fic, get ready to enjoy it more lol. Your teeth will surely rot out of your mouths after this chapter XDD Oops. We take a leap in time next chapter and =3c have a little drama. Just a little. This is the slow, midway point of the fic so. Anyway, don't forget to like comment and subscribe click the bell join the community lol

Billy had rescued her in August at the height of summer, Max thinks. It’s October now. October 5th to be exact. Her birthday. Over pancakes, bacon, and eggs, Max debates about mentioning it to Billy. The scents of breakfast woke her. Billy doesn’t do special breakfast, even on weekends. So she’s not sure what to make of this. There’s no way he knows it’s her birthday. But he’s rather tight lipped when Max asks what all this is for. In the living room, he has what looks like a beach bag packed with things. Sunscreen and towels. Max doesn’t have a swimsuit. Not that she knows of, but there’s a plastic bag on the floor beside his recliner, too. So she’s a squirming, curious mess by the time Billy falls into his spot at the table and makes himself a plate.

“Billy, come on! Tell me why you’re doing this.”

He scoffs, slapping pancakes down on his plate, and drawls, “What, I’m not allowed to cook the food I bought and eat it?”

Mouth tight but not annoyed, Max pops up from the table. It’s a quick march in and out to retrieve the beach bag he’s made no attempt to hide. Hell, he sat it down on the recliner as Max woke up to pancakes cooking. He’s not subtle.

Jiggling the bag by its straps, Max waggles her head and says, “Then why did you put this down in the living room where I would see it?”

Billy grins with food in his mouth, taking pleasure in chewing with his mouth open. Mostly because Max scoffs at him and makes a disgusted face.

“Huh, wonder how all that got there.”

Bottling a frustrated noise behind her lips, Max stomps back into the living room to swipe up the plastic bag. She tears into it when she’s in front of Billy once more and pulls out, yep, a swimsuit that will probably fit her. It’s a one piece, a pretty seafoam-green color. It’ll go nicely with her pale complexion and red hair. Billy must have seen it and liked it. But that’s beside the point. Max jerks the suit in Billy’s direction and shoots him a triumphant smirk. 

“How are you gonna explain this away? You just go around buying swimsuits for girls?”

He shrugs, snaps off the fatty end of a strip of bacon with his teeth. 

“Maybe.”

Sighing with her whole body, Max groans, “Come on!”

Billy wipes his mouth and fingers with a napkin before curling a finger towards himself.

“C’mere.”

Mouth tight, Max thinks about ignoring that look and Billy’s coaxing gesture. Just to be obstinate. Both of Billy’s eyebrows flick up though, his patience waning. So with another whole-body sigh, Max drapes the swimsuit over her chair and shuffles to stand in front of him. They’re… closer after that weird night. After Cheryl had left and Billy was so… affectionate. Cheryl has yet to make another appearance, and Billy hasn’t said a word about her. Like Billy is choosing Max over her. It still doesn’t settle quite right. A puzzle piece that technically fits in that spot but doesn’t complete the picture. It’s not like he touches her all the time. Mostly just him ruffling her hair or sometimes joining her on the couch. It’s easy to fall asleep with him so near. Even if her heart gives a lurch when she wakes up alone.

So now instead of this charged bubble between them keeping them apart, it attracts them like magnets. Only they’re both so awkward and emotionally constipated about it. Even now, reading the atmosphere clear as day and knowing Billy wants to touch her, he fights with himself. Eventually, he settles for grabbing Max’s upper arms and nudging her that much closer. Max stands in the empty space between Billy’s knees as he searches her face for something. Max searches him in kind, making sure to keep any attitude off her face. Acting like a brat is the easiest way to get Billy to clam up again. Not that this is easy for Max, either.

“You’ve been sleeping on my couch and eating my food for three months now, if my count is correct.” He shrugs and pets his thumbs over Max’s t-shirt. She’s still in the clothes she’d slept in. When he looks at her again, it’s with an eyebrow cocked high. “I know the manager of one of the little resorts around here, and she owes me a favor. You wanna sneak into the pool?”

He can’t admit why he’s doing all this, can only allude to the fact that he wants to celebrate this… anniversary between them. It’s oddly touching but so out of place for him. Billy can barely touch her like he is now let alone admit that he feels anything but mild tolerance for her. This offer, this gift is his way of showing what he cannot say. Max appreciates that about him. That he doesn’t go on and on about it. Max knows Billy saved her life that day, continues to make sure she’s safe and taken care of. She would be dead without him. So she takes it upon herself to lean forward and rest her head on his shoulder. It’s not quite a hug but close enough. She tries not to let it hurt when Billy flinches, hands tightening on her like he’ll push her away. But he doesn’t.

“Okay. That doesn’t sound totally lame.”

His face isn’t quite in her hair. But she’d taken a shower last night, so the scent of his own shampoo and conditioner should be strong in his nose. If Billy lets her lean there for a few seconds more just to enjoy the closeness, Max isn’t sure. Billy is the one to nudge her away, and Max goes without a fight.

Nodding to her chair, he says, “Put that shit back in the living room and finish eating before everything gets cold.”

Like most breakfasts between them, the rest of this one passes in silence. With Billy’s plan out in the open, Max inhales her breakfast to speed things along. She hasn’t gone swimming since running away. Sure, a pool can’t really measure up to the ocean. But it’s something. Billy wants to spend time with her, is using one of his days away from work to do this. As Max rushes through dishes, arms wet to her elbows, she reminds herself Billy never had to do any of this. She’s not a fan of reading too deeply into things. Billy is too transparent not to peek behind the curtain, though. He’s so prickly, so intensely private that every bit of tenderness he shows means more coming from him than anyone else. So rather than tease Billy about being a softy, Max carries on like usual. Even when she emerges from the bathroom picking at the leghole of the swimsuit, she doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

Billy twirls a finger at her, sunscreen in hand, and says, “Just cuz it’s an indoor pool doesn’t mean you can’t get burned to a crisp. Lemme get your back, you can do the rest.”

Thick fingers nudge the swimsuit straps off Max’s shoulders so Billy won’t miss a spot. Her back is to him while he sits in the kitchen chair, bringing them closer together than if he were standing. Even though he lacks the vantage to look down her suit—if he even would—Max flattens a hand to her chest just to make sure. The longer Billy’s slick hand rubs sunscreen on her back, the hotter her face grows. Hopefully he can’t see the way that warmth sinks into her little ears, too. She’s already braided her hair to stop it from tangling too badly in the water. The yellow scrunchie at the bottom of the braid is courtesy of Billy. He made sure to buy her all the essentials long ago. That and anything else she wants, within reason. She’s never felt… spoiled before. Doted on. 

“Here, finish up.”

Billy’s voice in her ear has Max leaping away from him. He snorts before she whips around to glare at him. She catches his amused smirk, so pleased with himself. Max almost flicks him off. Almost. Instead she snatches the sunscreen from his hand and takes big steps away from him. Huffing, Max turns her back on Billy once more. And smacks herself in the ear with her braid for her troubles. Billy must catch it, snorts behind her again. Max bottles another annoyed grumble behind her teeth and storms into the bathroom, Billy’s amused, low chuckle nipping her heels. Max can barely meet her eyes in the mirror while wiping sunscreen on her face and chest. The lotion is cool on her burning cheeks courtesy of Billy and his antics. He is playful today. Max needs to keep her head on straight.

It’s not a far drive. They stick out in the lobby of the resort in swimwear without any sort of luggage. Clearly not staying at the resort if they’ve just rolled up and strolled in. Billy does so boldly with his swaggering stride. A king in his castle. Max follows in his footsteps while trying not to let her ego bloat, too. It would be easy to copy him. Anyone who sees them takes a double look or eyes Billy up and down. The only one to resist Billy’s spell is the manager: a pear-shaped woman barely taller than Max. She has to look up to meet Billy’s eyes, and his grins bounce right off her. Hands on her hips, her dark pantsuit sharp on her, she just shakes her head at him.

“Get you some feather boas and you could really be a peacock, Billy.” Her name tag says ‘Gloria,’ and she adds a snort to her gentle head shake. Dark eyes take in Max beside Billy next, but Gloria’s expression does not soften as it zips right back up to Billy. “What are you doing running around with a little girl?”

Max is perhaps the only one to notice the irritated twitch that flashes over Billy’s face before he molds it into something with humility.

Both hands lifted in front of him, palms out to ward Gloria’s suspicions away, Billy reasons, “Hey now, I’m not running around with anybody. She’s my niece, all right? And she’s not a little girl, she’s…”

“15,” Max announces with a jut of her chin. She’s not a fan of the way everyone tries to pick apart the relationship between her and Billy. It’s no one’s business. They’re not hurting anybody. “My mom just got a job as a flight attendant, so I’ll be with Billy when she’s not home.”

Whether her lie helps Billy’s case or not, Gloria just waves them away, tired of dealing with them. Once they’re beyond the glass walls enclosing the heat and chlorine around the pool, Billy stops Max’s mad dash to the water’s edge with a hand on her shoulder. She huffs and tries to shrug him off her, intent on making for the slide she’ll need to climb switchback stairs to reach the top of. Get the best thing out of the way before she explores the brief, lazy river or the deeper stretches of the pool. Billy’s hand on her is firm, not to be denied. So with a dramatic sigh, Max gives him her full attention. With maybe a tiny side of attitude.

“I appreciate the lie, but next time let me do the talking.” He eyes her for a breath or two when she shoots an impatient look up at him. Already his curls are a little flat from the humidity in here. He’ll look like a drowned rat the moment they’re truly wet. “And I coulda swore you told me you were 14. Lying about being one year older won’t help me look less like a pedophile, you know.”

Upper lip fighting a scowl, Max grumbles, “Don’t be gross, you’re not like that.”

“People like Frank and Gloria don’t know anything about me, Max. All they know is I drive a cab and I’m a loner. They’ll think the worst when they see you with me.”

“Well, they’re wrong.” Now Max shrugs Billy off her. Or rather he lets her, since they both know who’s stronger. Max crosses her arms over her chest and adds, “Besides, I didn’t lie about how old I am. I’m 15.”

A shapely eyebrow flicks up at her, unconvinced.

Throwing her arms back down, Max nearly whines, “I’m not lying, okay? I was 14 when we met, I’m 15 now. Why would I lie about that?”

“So when was your birthday?”

Now is when Max reels in some of her brattiness. She hadn’t planned on telling Billy. He was the one who proposed this trip. To celebrate how long they’ve lived together. This trip is already mushy enough. Adding her birthday on top of it seems like overkill. But he’ll know she’s lying, tuned into her fibbing ways. She lies all the time, lives entire lies. Lying to Billy never feels good, especially when he catches her.

Max sighs and tries to get away with mumbling, “Today.”

Billy’s expression flattens into something unamused, borderline annoyed. Especially at the corners of his mouth that tip down. But the longer Max holds his stare, shoulders hunching up a little, the more than expression softens. She’s not lying.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it. We’re here anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” She takes a squirming step back but holds their staring contest. “Can we swim now?”

Leaving the conversation at that and going their separate ways in the pool feels… hollow. Like Max withholding her birthday and downplaying its importance somehow? Upsets Billy? She can’t escape the heaviness in her gut even as she circles around and around the stairs to reach the top of the tube slide. An employee lounging in a chair at the top waves her on to sit and slide down. It’s still early. There’s no line for the slide, only like two other people in here. It’ll get more crowded as the day goes on, Max bets. Still, no matter how full the pool gets, Max can’t avoid the gnawing notion in her that she hurt Billy’s feelings. It’s easier to sink her emotions into anger, so she huffs to herself and tries to ignore it.

That lasts until she finds Billy in the pool. They’ve been here for maybe an hour. She comes upon him in a borrowed inner-tube, floating in circles in the lazy river. It’s nothing like the size of a waterpark. But the resort is nothing to sneeze at, somewhere between a community pool and an actual waterpark. When Max finds him, she has a choice of trying to slip past him or approach. He must not be worried about losing his sunglasses to the bottom of the pool. He could be asleep for all she knows, but she doubts it. Finding him subdued, even in the area where it’s to be expected, stirs up the muck of her earlier conflictions. Sighing with her mouth barely above water, Max wiggles between bobbing bodies and loops an arm around the inner-tube supporting Billy’s weight. He lifts his sunglasses with a glare ready but drops it when he sees her.

“Having fun?”

Max hanging on to the inner-tube adds drag, slows their circling. They break free from some old people also lounging. Almost secluded now, Max pipes up.

“Yea, I am. I’m glad we came here today… Are you having fun?”

Arms draped beside him, the picture of casual, Billy shrugs.

“Yep.”

Well that stings. Max frowns at Billy safe behind his sunglasses, entirely sure she doesn’t deserve his bad mood. What does it matter that she hadn’t mentioned her birthday? He’s already bought her everything she needs. She doesn’t need him going out and buying some stupid shit. Even if she wanted something, she wouldn’t tell him. He’s already taking care of her. This is enough. So why does it bother him so much? Huddling tighter to the inner-tube, Max lifts a hand out of the water to trace the firmness of muscle in Billy’s forearm. When he doesn’t flinch away, she keeps it up.

“Are you mad at me?”

Billy flicks his sunglasses up again. Max wonders how pitiful her stare is to make him sigh and throw his head back. He’s as much of a drama queen as she is. The notion comforts her.

“No, I’m not mad,” he grumbles. A pause, long enough for Max’s insides to wind up tightly before Billy goes on, “You said you didn’t wanna ‘make a big deal’ about it. What’s that supposed to mean?”

The truth will set her free. He’s never judged her stories before. Why would he start now?

“I don’t know… I guess I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to do anything about it? You already spend a lot of money on me, and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to do more.” Max chews on her bottom lip and scratches her nails on the inner-tube. It’s too smooth for the bitten ends to catch on the material. She turns her head away from him when she admits, “I don’t wanna like… be a burden or whatever.”

The truth shames her, makes her want to slip beneath the surface of the water and disappear. Deep down, Max knows she’s waiting for the moment Billy tells her to leave. For him to kick her out or grow tired of her mooching off him. Maybe right at the beginning she could have handled him abandoning her. Now? She doesn’t know what she would do without him, hates that she depends on him so much. It wasn’t like this back home, that’s for sure. Without Mom around, Max fended for herself. Cooked and cleaned for herself, got herself to and from school, all that shit. Billy spoiling her is a double-edged sword: she thrives under his gruff doting, but she craves his attention like a drug. All good things come to an end.

Billy shifts on the inner-tube without saying anything. Max holds on as his body slips into the center and he drags them out of the current. Some kids cling to the wall of the area, going against the flow. They make a game out of it, carefree. Max wishes that was her right now. Instead she gets to deal with her weird feelings for Billy and have this painfully awkward conversation with him. They’re not finished with it yet, so she lets him tow her through the pool to an open area where people bob around, talking or playing with their kids. There’s no such thing as privacy in a public place like this. With them on either side of the inner-tube, arms looped over the rubber to hold on, they have a semblance of privacy. Private enough for this topic anyway.

Billy’s sunglasses pushed up his forehead to perch in his hair, his intense eyes are unavoidable when he says, “Do you really think I’d kick you to the curb over a birthday present? Pretty sure you know my two rules about living with me, and you haven’t broken them yet.”

“I could outstay my welcome.”

“And have I given you the impression you’re at that point?”

It’s a rhetorical question. Max knows she’s being stupid about this. Billy’s mounting frustration, his voice going tighter the longer he hounds her, is proof enough.

“No,” she mumbles, looking away. 

“Okay then. So stop with this bullshit. I know I’m an asshole, but I’m not that big of an asshole. I’m not gonna wake up one morning and decide to throw you out. That’s not how this works, got it?”

Max knows her shrug won’t be enough, so she mumbles, “Yea.”

“Good,” Billy grunts. In the corner of her vision, Max watches his expression turn playful as he looks up at the glass ceiling, considering. “Now, how to go about teaching you a lesson about keeping things from me. I should probably take you to one of those restaurants that do a little song and dance when you tell them about someone’s birthday.”

Stomach dropping, please no, Max glares at him.

“You wouldn’t. You’d have to sit through it, too.”

“Yea, but you’re the birthday girl, so I just get to watch the humiliation, laugh at your expense.”

Appealing to his hatred of other people won’t work. So Max tries to go soft, pleads, “Billy don’t, that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you in the first place.”

A smirk tugs at one corner of his lips. He knows he’s won.

“I’ll think about it. You gonna keep shit like this from me again?”

“No,” Max grumbles. The seafoam-green of her swimsuit goes nicely with how bright her cheeks flush. 

Billy tugs once more on the inner-tube, pulling them to the gradual shallows where people walk out of the water, and says, “Good. Glad we can see eye to eye on that. You ready to go or you wanna swim more?”

That gets her to perk up a little. Billy must be done hounding her, must not be annoyed anymore since he turns to look at her, waiting for her response. His stern resting face isn’t all sharp edges like it usually is. Maybe he hasn’t been having fun until now like her. Maybe Billy floated around with the same heavy feeling that dragged Max down. 

Rising from the water and trailing behind Billy as he returns the inner-tube, Max asks, “Did you go down the slide yet? It’s not terrible.”

“Lead the way,” Billy says with a flick of his hand towards the stairs. 

It’s near lunch, now. So the queue isn’t nearly as long as it could be, people abandoning the pool for the buffets up and down the street. They climb the towering stairs twice before seeking their towels and dry change of clothes. As she rinses chlorine from her body, good enough until they get back and take real showers, Max hopes Billy had been joking about the restaurant thing. He is an asshole, though. Maybe he’ll forget about it? Spending upwards of three hours here, constantly moving, leaves Max wanting for a nap. A hot shower and a nap. Billy can’t be better off than her. He sits around just as much as she does and he’s older. Hopefully they’ll go back to his apartment, shower, and dive right into a nap. The cool dryness of the AC calls to her.

Billy is a grimacing, shuffling mess behind the wheel of his car, though.

“What got under your skin?”

It’s only now, spying the slight cherry glow on Billy’s face that Max recalls he’d wiped sunscreen on her. But never himself.

“Oh my god,” she barks, grin already spreading on her face. “Did you get burned because you were too dumb to put on sunscreen?”

“I don’t get sunburn,” Billy snaps back.

But he won’t rest his back against the seat. And his face is quite toasty. Or maybe he’s blushing, his turn to be humiliated. Max wants to dig into him, of course. Give Billy a taste of his own medicine, because she bets he can dish it out but can’t take it. She won’t, though. Billy always has to have the last word. If she escalates, so will he. So, Max just rubs her amusement between her lips and lets it go. His discomfort as he drives them back home is enough. If it’s particularly bad on his back, he’ll have troubles sleeping tonight. It’s enough.

Billy waves Max on to take a shower first. She doesn’t even hesitate to take that gift, peels her clothes off and jumps into lukewarm water rather than stand another second stiff with chlorine. She needs to soak her braid to work the locks free from each other. Max leaves conditioner in her hair longer than she normally would. Billy is vain about his looks, his hair most of all. It works out for Max since he buys expensive shampoo and conditioner.

Soft smile on her face as she thinks about him, Max bets he would insist on getting her nice things to take care of her hair. Her wavy locks are one of the first things he’d tended to when he brought her inside like a stray. Max dreads becoming one again, and Billy’s words at the pool today help assuage that fear. He doesn’t want her to leave. He’s not going to make her leave. If she didn’t already have confusing feelings for him, feelings that make her hide her face and groan into them, she would after today. She’ll never be able to tell Billy how grateful she is.

Acts of service will have to do. After they switch and after Billy is done with his shower, Max hears him sighing in the bathroom. The door is open, spilling pale, yellow light into the nub of the hallway. Humidity continues to pour out of the room when she peeks in and finds Billy monkeying around with aloe vera. Despite his build and strength, not even he can reach the sunburn spread out on his upper back. He tries all the same, throwing an annoyed grimace over his shoulder as he uses the mirror in the medicine cabinet to try and get good coverage. With Billy clad only in grey sweatpants, Max tries not to appreciate the view. Instead, she snorts at the way Billy strains to reach. The noise draws blue eyes to her reflection, and then Billy whips around to look at her for real.

“What’s so funny?”

Max doesn’t bother to cover up the smirk that spreads across her face. He acts so tough but she knows he’s in pain. That and he’s too proud to just ask for help… Not that she’s any better.

“You,” she says with almost a giggle. “Who doesn’t get sunburn?” When Billy’s narrowed stare starts to boil over into a glare, Max pushes hair behind her ear and asks, “Want some help?”

Fidgeting with her hair like this may give away what she wants. Boys don’t make her nervous, butterflies in her stomach. Boys are egotistical morons, Billy no exception. And yet here she is, not quite meeting Billy’s curious stare and unable to stop playing with her hair. It’s not dry all the way through, Billy’s curls in a similar state. He had indeed looked like a drowned rat at the pool. Max purses her lips to not smile so Billy won’t take it the wrong way. Him huffing through his nose, resigned, draws her timid eyes back up to him.

“Fine. Lemme sit down so you can actually reach.”

His dig at her height doesn’t require a rebuttal, but she gives him one with a roll of her eyes. Billy washes aloe off his hands at the kitchen sink before spinning a chair around and dropping onto it. Broad back bent forward as he leans his weight into the chair, he sits there on display. He leaves the aloe bottle, blue gel with air bubbles trapped in it, on the kitchen table. Max stands there longer than necessary with Billy glancing over a toasty shoulder. It’s not her fault he makes quite a sight. His eyebrow is already up when Max startles back to herself. She hadn’t been looking at all his skin on display, all of Billy’s muscles shifting under that skin. She’s not a creep!

“Well?”

If Billy knows he’s caught her staring, he lets it go. Max fights with the cap of the aloe while Billy watches her. Always watching, but rarely does Max catch him in the act. Never anything perverse, never in a way that makes her want to scratch his eyes out. Like the wandering, drooling gazes of men who would coax her to the pits of Hell. She’d meant what she said at the pool: that Billy isn’t like that. A pedophile. Max won’t deny that she likes it when Billy notices her. Again, she craves his pride and to impress him. Being close to him is nice, too, so she’ll take care not to hurt him further when she reaches for Billy’s back.

“It’s cold,” she mumbles a second before her palms graze over toasted skin.

Billy sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth anyway. He makes no move to stop her, gives no word of protest. After that first glide of Max’s hands, Billy is quiet. His arms cross under his head as he leans on the backrest of the chair. Heavy head resting on his bicep, Billy keeps a bead on Max as she spreads aloe around. It’s slippery, and Max is already a bug under the microscope of Billy’s focus. So she minds her hands and where they wander, never reaches for more than the muscled planes of Billy’s back. Even if the toasted glow of him continues down, past the elastic of his sweatpants. Even the dimples above his ass are kissed by the sun, Max thinks.

All too soon, Max pulls away before rubbing aloe on Billy turns into just her touching him for her own pleasure. Pleasure that frustrates and confuses her, makes her skitter to the sink to wash her hands and finally escape Billy’s stare. Only when Max shuffles back to him, she finds his eyes are closed. He’s probably not asleep, his position in the chair too precarious. Sure enough, Max stands there while watching Billy’s body dip, too relaxed. He startles out of it and sits up faster than he intends. When he looks around, eyes still narrowed, Max flashes him a little smile instead of poking fun at him.

“I’m tired, too. If you take a nap, you should probably sleep on your stomach. The aloe is, uh… sticky.”

Out of it, he murmurs, “Good idea,” before shoving himself out of the chair. 

It’s not quite a drunken stumble from the kitchen to Billy’s open bedroom door. Max follows a few steps behind just to make sure he doesn’t brain himself on the doorjamb or knock into anything. Billy takes Max’s advice about sleeping on his stomach to heart. Or he must since he falls as dead weight like a cartoon character straight to the mattress, bouncing once or twice before resting. His feet hang off the edge of the bed. Billy finds the strength to drag himself to the lumpy pillows at his headboard. Max has only been in his room a few times, usually helping Billy look for his lighter or wallet. So to stand in the bubble of private space and watch Billy pass right out twists Max up inside. She probably shouldn’t be standing here watching Billy sleep… Although he’s done it to her plenty. His secret kisses to her cheek or forehead as she falls asleep on the couch are not so secret.

A hook just behind her navel is what tugs her into the room. Just a stumbling, hesitant step or two at first as she fights with herself. Max knows what she wants to do. Billy’s bed isn’t some grand, sprawling thing. It’s big enough for two, though. The thread tugging her into the room ends at the empty space beside Billy. Swimming today must have taken it out of him more than Max thought. His back rises and falls with deep, slow breaths. Will he wake up if she crawls in next to him? The fact that she’s even thinking about it brings fresh heat to her cheeks. Boys don’t give her butterflies. Only Billy. It means something, so Max hikes one leg onto the mattress and then the other, trying not to jostle them too much. When Billy’s head remains facing the other way, away from her, Max lies down beside him. She doesn’t dare close her eyes or relax for a moment. She just counts the seconds between Billy’s inhales and exhales, searching for a sign that he’s awake and about to tell her off.

Without her head on a pillow, Max curls up facing Billy’s side and tries to keep as still, as light as possible. If Billy notices the added weight to his mattress, the slight dip of her, he may wake up. The day has not been so draining on Max. She could do with a nap, though. Now that she’s truly in Billy’s bubble, shivers with his body heat brushing against her, she cannot convince herself to leave. Billy may startle awake to her leaving. It would be even worse if he catches her retreating. Billy so does love to pick at someone’s weak spot until they’re nothing but dust.

Lying here with him risks so much for so little. Max knows it’s a dumb idea. She’s not so enraptured to reach out and touch him even though he’s right here. And she wants to. Billy’s room is too cold for her without a blanket. Even with him so near, it’s too cold. Max would rather lie here for a few minutes shivering than flick some of his blanket over her and risk waking him. Max curls up at his side to rest her eyes, confident she won’t fall asleep. She won’t stay for long, she decides. Just a few minutes and then she’ll get up. Billy will never know. 

So Max’s heart skips a beat and jumps around when she jolts awake under Billy’s arm, nearly pressed flush to his chest. When he’d moved and scooped her up to hold her, she isn’t sure. All Max knows is that she’d slept through it. It takes a few more pets of Billy’s hand from the back of her neck to between her shoulder blades to realize that’s what woke her. His calluses are almost loud as they rub over Max’s t-shirt, up down, up down. Between them, Max’s hands tangle under her chin. Billy must be awake if he’s petting her, must not be that mad about her sneaking into his bed. He would have jostled her awake to send her away. She’s awake now, no way Billy missed her little flinch. His hand comes to a slow stop high on her back with his fingers almost curling around the crook of Max’s neck.

“I know you’re awake,” he says softly above her, warm breaths puffing in her hair. “Did you crawl in on your own or did I pull you down with me?”

“I crawled in,” she says just as softly back. 

Billy hums, believing her. His hand on her back shifts until his fingers tangle in her hair instead.

“So what brought this on? You have a bad dream or something?”

Max can’t help her scoff or her attitude despite her heart beating so hard she worries it will stop.

“I’m 15 not 5. You passed out immediately and I…” She gives a hopeless shrug. “I just wanted to sleep next to you. I sleep better when we’re close.”

It’s a lot of weakness to admit. That his presence soothes her. She dares arm Billy with enough ammo to bruise her little heart. His viper tongue remains hidden as he sighs above her, gathers her up tighter to him, and squeezes her.

“Okay,” he sighs, like he’s trying to convince himself of something. His arms relax a little but do not let her go. Thick fingers keep right on petting her hair. “As long as I didn’t make you do this.”

Max shakes her head where she’s safe against Billy’s chest. 

Her voice is thicker than she’d like it to be when she admits, “Even if you did, it would be okay. You wouldn’t do anything bad to me.” Boldness finds her despite the soft daylight making Billy’s bedroom cozy. Max loops her own, thin arm around Billy’s middle to hold on to him. It hurts a little when he flinches. But he doesn’t push her away. Quietly, she adds, “You’re not like my mom’s boyfriend.”

Another sigh threads Billy’s warm breath through her hair. His arms tighten around her again, just on the edge of uncomfortable. Pressure on her head, maybe Billy just resting his mouth against red strands or maybe kissing them. Max will never know, presses her cheek to Billy’s skin just to touch him back. She’d wanted to when she fell asleep curled up beside him. The fact that she didn’t wake up when Billy rolled over and held her speaks volumes. Any shift, any sound on the streets would jar Max awake. It’s something she still fights with occasionally. Never when Billy sits on the couch with her and lets her fall asleep. They don’t do that every night. Next breath sort of stuttering out of her tight throat, Max wishes they would. She wishes she could just sleep next to Billy like this. They’re not hurting anybody. Nobody has to know about her feelings for him and the secret tenderness he shows her. 

Billy relaxes his hold on Max and begins to untangle them nearly in the same moment. He has a snort ready and gently pushes her hands away when she paws at him. She’s not ready for this to be over. A pointed look from Billy, enough, has Max reeling her heart back in. He’d allowed her this much. It has to be enough for now. He sits up first, tucks some hair behind her ear, and then he’s gone. The mattress shifts up without Billy’s weight. Max stares at the wrinkles in his sheets where he’d been, turns big eyes up at him to find Billy waiting in the doorway. He watches her without a smirk or frown on his lips. No lecture waits on his tongue. He won’t dig his fingers into her weakness right now. He won’t tear her apart.

“I’m starving,” he says with a stretch, gritting his teeth with his arms curling above his head. When he relaxes, his expression is more fluid, a little slick like normal. The moment has passed. “Since it’s your birthday and all, I guess we can just go eat wherever you want. I might not mention it to our waiter, guess we’ll see how I feel when we sit down.”

That night, Billy doesn’t join Max on the couch. She tries not to let it hurt so much, tries not to let her throat close up as she huddles under her blanket. She had him for a little while, held him for a moment. It’s better than nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sure do like hurting Max oops. So much happens in this chapter! Enjoy lol

Whenever it rains here, it’s almost a sigh of relief. Max never remembers how much she misses weather until it happens. They’re safe from the sudden downpour in Billy’s cab, parked on a bridge overlooking storm drains. Max’s lunch sits forgotten in her lap, paper boat about to blot grease on the front of her shorts. She’s too busy watching homeless people mill about at the mouth of the tunnel below.

“You know,” Billy begins with some food still in his mouth, shifting in his seat to get more comfortable. “When I first saw you in Lorena’s store, I thought maybe you camped out here. Never drove over here to check or nothing. But I wondered.”

Max shakes her head, avoids catching the ghostly reflection of her eyes in the window.

“No, the alley you found me in was where I slept since I got here. There was a guy who worked in the kitchen of the restaurant that’s right there. He found me first but didn’t rat me out to his boss. It always looked like he wanted to offer me food when he took trash out. Maybe he thought I got into the garbage bags after he left them. He never tied them shut.”

The flick of Billy’s lighter draws Max’s out-of-focus stare away from her knees and over to Billy. He cracks the window just enough to let grey smoke slip out. He glances at her when his fingers pinch the filter to lift it away from his lips.

Billy’s right hand sort of lazy on its approach, Max closes her eyes when it settles on her head. He’ll either ruffle her hair to annoy her or just touch her for a second. He does that, now. They haven’t fallen asleep in the same place since her birthday months ago. Sitting together on the couch is almost nightly. Max has long since stopped fluffing up her pillow or cramming it between her and Billy. It’s flat under her head every night so she can press some part of her, however small, to him. Would it bother him to know that she always wakes up sometime after he leaves, because a part of her knows he’s missing? Telling him would surely complicate things. Cheryl has still never been back to the apartment.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Billy says that, but he already has Max’s sharp chin in his fingers. She won’t need more coaxing than that, because Max’s green-blue eyes flash up to meet him.

Body rocking a little with a huff, Billy says, “You’re never gonna have to worry about that again. You’ll be back on the streets over my dead body, you get me?”

“I know,” Max says instead of giving him attitude or doubting him. Billy drops his hand after that, and Max can’t wait to change the subject. “You’re still taking me to the mall when you’re done working, right?”

Billy hands over his trash to get it off his lap and groans, “Yea, I guess. We’re only hanging around there for like an hour tops, so use your time wisely.”

That will definitely be spent in the dark corners of the arcade. He can lounge by the fountain, showing off how much space he can take up on a bench. Max makes a beeline for that corner of the mall the moment her sneakers hit linoleum. Billy hollers at her back to meet up here in an hour. It had stung the first few times Billy brushed her off. She was maybe a bit too smug about her skills, boasted too much that she could teach him how to play. It turned him off, she thinks. Or maybe Billy genuinely has no interest in video games. He wouldn’t have turned her down so gently if he thought less of her hobby. He’s heavy on her mind, taking her out of the game. So she notices the guy loitering nearby, sometimes walking away but wandering closer and closer to her in the dim of the arcade.

When he stands there leaning on Dragon Quest to her right, watching her and the game, Max glares at him and snaps, “There’s another Dig Dug over there.”

Instead of taking it as the dismissal it is, the guy shuffles that much closer. He doesn’t quite lean into Max’s personal space, but she cranes away from him with a brief glare anyway. If she takes her eyes off the screen while in play, the enemies may catch up to her as she runs around her tunnels. 

His voice startles her, closer than she’d thought when he stammers, “N-no, I uh, I don’t wanna play, I was just… Well I’ve never—”

“Never seen a girl play video games before?” Max scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that one a million times.”

He huffs, “I’ve never seen a girl score so high is what I was going to say.”

“Not much better,” Max sighs mostly to herself. If she rolls her eyes again, she may give herself a headache. Why won’t he buzz off? The game gives her an option, two Pookas surrounding her and taking her last life. The death jingle plays, and Max steps away as she pats her pockets for quarters. She’ll just play something else. “All yours, dude.”

The soft click of a quarter pressed to the control board draws Max’s eyes up. The guy draws his hand away slowly with a smile squirming onto his face. She’s never seen him before. He doesn’t look too out of place, isn’t as old as Billy. Maybe 18 or 19. Some acne spatters his jaw, and the moustache he’s trying to grow is rather pathetic. It’s coming in black like his straight hair but so patchy Max almost laughs. He belongs here with his pants pulled up too high, polo shirt tucked in, squinting in the glare of the game waiting for someone to play. Of course the sight of a girl pushing closer to the high score on this machine has drawn him in. He’s harmless, so Max swipes the donated quarter and flicks it into play.

“Thanks.”

He shuffles, nervous and almost sweaty from the modicum of attention Max gives him, and blurts out, “No problem, um, I accidentally fed the change machine a $5 so…”

“Is that so?” she drawls, wishing he’d shut up. With enough bored responses, maybe he’ll take the hint. “Sounds like you could play a lot of games.”

“Yea I guess so uh… My name’s Roger, what’s yours?”

Max ignores that, too busy blowing up enemies and stampeding through the initial rounds. It’s not a challenge at all; she could play the first eighteen rounds with her eyes closed, she thinks. It doesn’t get interesting until after that round. It’s only once the enemies get faster and more aggressive with their path finding that she’s in any danger. She’ll have her name emblazoned at the top of the high score screen in no time. If… ‘Roger’ would mind his own business. Max withholding her name doesn’t deter him. He goes right on chattering like a squirrel.

“Wow you’re so fast, that Pooka woulda killed me.”  
“How are you so good at leading them to rocks? That’s how you trigger the bonuses, right?”   
“Hey did killing that Fygar deeper down give you more points? Far out, I didn’t know about that!”

It’s all in one ear and out the other. Max has heard it all before. Boys are so incredibly stupid, thinking that showering her with compliments will gain her favor. Now… if Billy were the one with his arm craned above them, leaning into Max to watch over her shoulder… That would be different. Billy wouldn’t talk so much. He doesn’t care about the game, doesn’t know anything about it. Him murmuring praise when she survives a tight spot or advances deeper and deeper into the game would bring a flutter to her chest. The butterflies she has only for him stir at just the thought of it. Her hour is almost up, and for once she’s thankful she has to leave. It will get her away from this annoying guy and bring her back to Billy. Where she belongs.

“Here you go,” she says with a smirk. “I’m done. Thanks for the quarter.”

Max lingers long enough to stamp her name on the high score board. Slot number one is just barely out of her reach. She’ll come back and claim it eventually. She already has Dragon Quest next to Dig Dug. Maybe she’ll claim Pac-Man next, who knows. Max wanders away from the cabinets with Roger sputtering behind her. She steps lightly since extension cords taped to the floor could trip her in the dark. The dim ambiance of the arcade here and the one back in San Diego is nice, but Max would prefer being able to see. She rounds a shadowy corner, seeking the bright, open wall that is the front of the arcade. Music and noise of people talking, walking in the mall bleeds just inside the arcade, pulling her out. A hand snatching her wrist, tugging her back against a thin chest, has her stomach dropping to her feet.

“Hey, let—!”

A clammy hand slaps over her mouth. The other hand wrapped around her wrist struggles with her. Roger tries to draw Max’s arm down to her chest so she can’t fight. He has another fucking thing coming if he thinks he can mess with her. He’s taller and stronger than he looks. He may be a nerd, but he isn’t frail like one. No matter how Max bucks against him and kicks her feet out to upset his balance, his grip never falters. The longer this goes on, maybe only seconds but an eternity for Max, the more her confidence wilts. Why can’t she break his hold? Why can’t she wiggle free? Humid breaths pant in her ear as she scratches at Roger’s wrist near her jaw. No matter how she claws at him, he won’t let go.

“I’m not done talking to you,” he sneers. “Don’t be a frigid little bitch.”

He drags Max backwards with her sneakers digging into the colorful swirls spattered on the black carpet. In the distance, kids run around cabinets and cluster around teenagers to watch them play. There’s no one in this corner of the arcade. And it’s dark, so much darker than Max had thought. No one sees Roger haul her into the actual corner and spin her around, flattening Max’s chest to the wall. It’s a brief struggle—Max snarling and trying to ram her head into him behind her as Roger grabs at her wrists. Max’s knuckles graze the rough paint of the wall and scuff until they sting when Roger finally gets a hold of her. He traps her hands to the wall and pins the rest of her with his body. He’s about the same height as Billy but not nearly as wide. It feels good when Billy holds her close like this. Right now she can barely breathe as her pulse thunders wildly.

Max’s voice leaks into her frantic panting. It’s so quiet. Like no one else is here. Like even if she screamed, if she could gather enough air to scream, no one would hear her anyway. She’s back in the alley when that fat guy tried to steal her off the street. She’s back in her bed with her mom’s boyfriend trying to break into her room. She’s back in all those horrible places, and Billy isn’t here to save her. Acid rises hot in the back of Max’s throat when Roger leans more of his weight on her. He’s hard against her ass, isn’t shy about rubbing himself on her. 

“I don’t have to be mean,” he reasons with her, pressing her flush to the wall. When she squirms, she just grinds her ass on him. He squeezes her wrists tighter, adds lowly in her ear, “Play nice, little girl, you don’t wanna make me mad.”

Eyes burning, Max screeches, “Get off me!”

Just like when Billy had tried to stop her from stealing, Max slams her heel into Roger’s ankle. He bellows behind her, flinches away out of instinct. He gives Max just enough room, just enough slack at her wrists to yank one arm free. The sharp jut of her elbow seeks something soft, something delicate. Max drives her elbow right into Roger’s gut. His hands retreat entirely. He stumbles back a step. Now free, Max spins around, lifts a leg, and kicks solidly between his. Roger seizes up around his wounded pride. His voice goes high and pained, glare watery on his face. But Max doesn’t hang around to let him paw at her or seek retribution. She tears out of the arcade with her sneakers slipping on the carpet. She stumbles and falls when she hits linoleum, bangs her knee pretty good, but forces herself up and takes off. Even a mall cop hollering for her to stop running doesn’t slow her. She needs to get back to the front of the mall where Billy is. Billy won’t let anything happen to her.

When she finds him, she can hardly believe they’re still in the mall. That the arcade is just down the corridor behind her. That Billy has no idea what’s just happened. He lounges on a bench just like she knew he would, smoking and people watching. Max slows her mad stampede as she approaches. Her face is hot, eyes even hotter as she tries to calm down. If Billy sees her like this, he’ll make a big deal out of it. He’ll want her to take him back to the arcade where he can cause a scene. His gun is tucked under his arm in a holster. Stomach sick and chest aching, Max knows she can’t tell him what she just went through. She has to be calm, keep it cool. Max can barely meet Billy’s eyes when he spies her and jerks his head to bring her closer.

“Have fun? You’re a little early.”

Fingers tangled in the hem of her shirt, Max shrugs.

“I was out of quarters anyway… Um… can we go? I wanna get out of here.”

She likes people and public places about as much as Billy does. She’s just nicer about it. Billy knows that; so Max’s request doesn’t rouse suspicion. Billy just shrugs, stamps out his cigarette in the provided ashtray, and then stands in a fluid motion. Max keeps her eyes up long enough to watch Billy brush his clothes off and adjust his gun under his arm. It’s right where she knew it would be. Normally it brings her some semblance of comfort. Now she just needs them to get the hell out of here in case Roger somehow finds them. She can’t go back there. She won’t.

The ride back is quiet. Not unusual. Billy keeps eyeing her, though, keeps firing off little questions as they walk into the apartment and get comfortable. How was the arcade? What did she play? Did she score big like she wanted to? He has never bothered with these sorts of things before. He must pick up on her mood. That or her keeping close, following him around the apartment gives her away. Normally when he makes dinner, she’s on the couch watching TV or reading a book. More than once tonight he has to nudge her out of his way or tell her to get back when he opens the oven. He pulls the plain cheese pizza out for her first, no worry about the hot rack inside the oven when he slides the next in. Some Supreme monstrosity with a few bell pepper slices picked off, because it comes with too many on it.

Instead of leaving his chair in its normal spot across from Max, Billy drags it to sit beside her. She almost shies away from him, knows he’s acting weird because she’s acting weird. Why he doesn’t just hound her for an answer, she’s not sure. He just watches her in that bored, intense way of his. When Billy steals a slice of her pizza, she says nothing. It’s just frozen pizza. It doesn’t taste like much to begin with. Billy could have gone out and got them pizza from a chain and she still wouldn’t taste it. The hollowness scares her, and Max turns her face even more away from Billy in hopes that he doesn’t pick up on it. So when Billy’s pizza is done and she springs up to do dishes, put leftovers away, she’s almost thankful for giving her back to Billy. He can’t lift up her edges and peek under to her afraid insides this way. They clamour to be heard. 

Billy waits until Max curls up on the couch, him chomping away, to begin the interrogation.

“So did you have fun at the arcade? Usually you brag about beating some kid’s score.” Max’s back is to him, so he cannot see the way she bites her lip and closes her eyes. He only sees how she turns to press her face into her pillow. “You’ve been awfully quiet since we got back.”

“Just tired.”

“Are you lying to me?”

She flinches, forces out, “No.”

“Max.”

It’s not like she has anywhere to storm off to. It’s how she used to save herself from Mom or the boyfriend when she knew her attitude was about to get her into trouble. Stomping to her room, slamming the door. All better outlets for her anger and sadness than running her mouth. Mom would never hit her. Billy probably won’t either. Max would just rather not risk it. Not with her insides so fragile and stormy right now. He’s seen her cry too much for her liking.

“The rain makes me tired,” she tries, not entirely untrue. Max wiggles to coax her blanket higher up her shoulder, almost covering her ear. Mumbling, she adds, “I’m gonna go to bed early.”

“It’s not even 6 yet.”

She can’t muster a response, just tugs her blanket over her head. A gap big enough to breathe through remains, but otherwise Max disappears from sight. It’s a dead giveaway that she’s upset. Even so, Max leaves the cushion above her head empty. It’s where Billy usually sits when she falls asleep. She leaves it free if he wants to sit. If he won’t come over, if he withholds his affection for some arbitrary reason, she just hopes she’s asleep when he abandons her for his room. It sucks waking up to him gone. To think he will disregard her entirely and just keep to himself? That winds her throat up tight and has her grimacing to not let her chin wobble. 

Sleep comes lightly. It’s more Max resting her eyes and dozing for periods of time. To the rush of water as Billy does dishes. To the TV at a low volume, Billy coughing on an exhale as he smokes in the recliner. Never once when Max blinks awake is Billy in his spot on the couch. She falls asleep with him in the recliner, chuckling lowly to himself as he watches something. The gaping maw of her misery gnaws at her insides, drags her deeper into the hollowness she’s been fighting since the arcade. Sleep is blissful relief from the waking world; she can’t stand to be awake anymore.

Being awake after the arcade had drained her—a grueling affair of deceit and hurting herself. Sleep is an escape until Max startles awake, the scum of her nightmare painting reality in harsh shadows and heavy breaths that aren’t real. She was stuck in the arcade, running endless loops around rows of cabinets trying to avoid Roger, her mom’s boyfriend, any man who wasn’t Billy. As Max yelps and flounders on the couch, smacking her hands into empty air to chase away someone who isn’t real, she knows she was searching for Billy in her dream. But she couldn’t find him, awakens now to her heart overwhelmed and eyes already about to overflow. Max rolls off the couch and lands in a tangled heap between the cushions and the coffee table. By some miracle she doesn’t hit the table itself. The poor girl cannot collect herself from the floor fast enough to stumble towards Billy’s bedroom. His door is open. He only shuts it when he wants to be alone.

Every dark corner of the living room and Billy’s bedroom is someone waiting to get her. Max sweats even now, standing beside Billy’s slumbering form, and cannot help but hear their breathing. Their feet marching, searching for her. She has no idea how long Billy has been asleep. He struggles with it sometimes, stays awake until he passes out from exhaustion. So it kills her to crawl into bed with him only for Billy to immediately startle awake. Not nearly as hard as her. The phantoms that have followed her from her nightmares into the waking world aren’t real. Her clinging to Billy and trying to huddle as close as she can as he flails is all too real. If Max were in her right mind, she knows she wouldn’t blame him for cursing and tugging at her. A whimper from her, please don’t, shatters what remains of Billy’s slumber. His arms go tight around Max and drag her to his chest faster than she can gasp.

“What’s wrong?” He grumbles into her hair. “You’re shaking, what happened?”

Words fail her. Breaths damn near fail her if not for Billy’s hands holding her so harshly. He doesn’t mean to dig his fingers into her back and head until it pinches. She’s panicking and he can’t stop her. So Max slips her arm around him too and scrambles her free hand over his chest. He’s shirtless, how he usually sleeps. She wishes he were wearing a shirt so she could cling to it instead of his skin. They’ll leave marks on each other as Max fights to calm down.

Billy probably wants to shake her a little. If only to drive some sense into her. He doesn’t, actually gentles his hands on her and pets her hair. It’s enough tenderness to unwind Max’s throat and let loose the quiet, gasping sobs she’s been holding back all evening. For her pride’s sake, Max presses her teary face to the sheet trapped under them rather than Billy’s skin. She’s an ugly crier and doesn’t want to get tears or snot on him. Billy says nothing as Max cries herself out. He only shushes her and holds the back of her head, pressing his mouth to her hair in not-kisses. 

When Max quiets, only her back trembling from emotion, Billy murmurs to her, “It was just a bad dream, honey. You’re safe, I’m not gonna let you go.”

It probably doesn’t take much to assume she had a nightmare. Why else would she run in here in the middle of the night and throw herself at him already in tears? 

“I’m sorry,” she gasps.

“Don’t apologize,” he grunts. His gentle hands give away his concern despite his rough voice. “Just take a damn breath and calm down, you’re fine.”

Lips loosened after that first whimper, Max rambles, “I couldn’t find you. No matter where I ran or how far, I couldn’t find you, Billy. I was so scared, I-I couldn’t get away from him, he almost caught me.”

She winds herself back up like that, a spring ready to break. Grumbling under his breath, Billy wrestles Max higher up the bed until her head is level with his. She tries to hide in the pillow so he won’t see the way her jaw trembles as she starts to cry again. It’s easier to channel her emotions into anger, and Max directs it at herself. Angry for letting Roger grab her at the arcade, angry for not fighting back harder, angry for letting it get to her. She almost wants to tear herself out of Billy’s arms and just go hide in the bathroom. His strength is absolute, only allows her to shake through her bottled cries and breathe. He won’t let her go.

A big hand, palm rough from work, cups her cheek. Max tries to open her eyes to look at him, but that just welcomes hot tears to overflow. Max fights Billy’s grip on her when he goes to thumb her tears away. He just grumbles again, jerks her head once to stop her, and goes right on holding her. So she gives up, sort of sags bonelessly into Billy’s bed and his hands. The bedroom is soft and dark around them with just the AC humming. A sigh from Billy whispers through the night, but Max’s eyes remain closed. Billy gives her that modicum of mercy and lets her be for a few minutes. Just breathing.

“Billy?” Max mumbles after an eternity.

His hand slips forward to hold the side of her head. A deep hum urges her to continue.

“I have to tell you something. Something happened at the arcade today.”

Billy’s fingers twitch in her hair, but he says nothing.

Taking a deep breath and forcing her eyes open to stay here, Max admits, “I was in the arcade, and there was this guy hanging around. He was really annoying, and usually guys buzz off if you ignore them. But he didn’t leave, and it was almost time to meet up with you anyway. So I left, but it was dark in the arcade, and no one was around, and he grabbed me and put his hand over my mouth, and I couldn’t scream, and I couldn’t get away, I was so scared I—”

“Max.”

She’s dizzy when she finally stops and takes a breath. One and then another, shuddering so hard to stop the sound in her throat. If she cries any harder, she’ll start hiccuping. And she doesn’t need that level of hysterics. Billy lets her breathe a few times until she’s just shivering again. He lifts his hand off her long enough to snatch up the sheet behind her and flick it over Max’s little body. Hugged tightly to the inferno roaring just under Billy’s skin, the sheet traps that heat and warms her up in no time. Now when she shivers, it’s just from trying not to cry anymore.

Billy’s hand is back on the side of her head, thumbing the dry, itchy streaks on her cheek when he sighs, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t want you to murder the guy,” Max says with a wet, gross sniffle. She grimaces, tasting it in the back of her throat. Unpleasant. “Cuz you would have. I think he would have kept going if I didn’t kick him in the balls.”

Billy’s stomach brushes her when he huffs a single laugh. He nudges her head forward to rest his chin and mouth in her hair. The weight of him feels so good, so Max flattens a little hand in the center of his chest. She so rarely touches his skin. It calms her right down to feel his warmth, the rasp of her palm ghosting over his skin. Max needs only to shift her head to bump the tip of her nose to honey. If her insides weren’t torn to shreds over this, she might kiss him. 

“Yea, you’re right. Good job fighting back, Max. I’m proud of you.”

“You’re not mad I didn’t say anything?”

Billy shrugs, pets her when he says, “I knew something must have happened. I figured you’d tell me eventually. You weren’t bleeding or nothing when you walked up, so.”

Max nods again and feels confident enough that she won’t cry anymore to finally press her face to Billy’s skin.

“It was so real,” she confesses barely above a whisper. Max’s chest twists tightly again until every breath hurts a little. “It felt like I was in the arcade for real. But I couldn’t run away this time, and he almost caught me.”

The thick fingers in Max’s hair retreat only to take her jaw. Billy tugs her gently from her hiding place back up to the pillow. Max presses her jaw into him to avoid meeting his eyes like Billy wants. Even a squeeze to her chin can’t do it, so Billy shifts down the bed to make her look at him.

“You’re awake now, you know that, right?”

Max gives him a tiny nod, only sure because Billy is here. She couldn’t find him in her dream, after all.

Billy nods too, goes on with, “It was just a dream, Max. He can’t hurt you. You know I’d never let anyone hurt you, right?”

Max’s throat is so tight it hurts to breathe and swallow. She almost wants to laugh at herself. To think there’d been a time where she wasn’t sure if Billy even liked her. Reaching up, Max covers Billy’s hand holding her head and even manages to look at him. Meeting those intense blues, Max knows Billy doesn’t love her like she loves him. He’s always the one saying he’s not a pervert, he doesn’t fuck teenage girls. In spite of that, he cares about her. Would he let her crawl into bed with him if he didn’t care? Would he get so defensive and protective of her if he didn’t care? No. Billy doesn’t care about anything or anyone and is proud to be unattached. Except with her. 

Riding the high of that unspoken affection, Max presses her hand harder to Billy’s and mumbles, “Can I tell you something else? But… you have to promise not to get mad.”

“I’ll try.” Billy’s thumb pets hair away from Max’s temples, strokes back and forth when he finds skin. “No promises, though, it’s me.”

Max nods in his hand again and tries to keep her eyes up when she rambles, “I’m not expecting you to say it back. I know you don’t feel the same, and it’s weird, I know that. I just…” She can do it. Just say it! “I think I love you.”

Billy’s face remains smooth as glass. No angry scowl, no disgusted twist of his lips. His thumb keeps right on petting her like she hasn’t just admitted her squishy crush on him. Max’s cheek grows hot with embarrassment under the heel of Billy’s palm. 

“Are you gonna say anything?”

In the dim light spilling through the open door from the kitchen, Max watches Billy’s eyes fall shut with a sigh. A corner of his mouth ticks up, but he’s not laughing. Max’s shoulders try to hunch up despite her lying on her side. The longer Billy remains silent, the more she suspects he’s upset. Disgusted, repulsed. He’ll push her away any second, now.

Max is stiff in Billy’s hands when he urges her closer. Fingers in her hair, Billy holds her still while resting his mouth against her forehead. It’s not a kiss. He’s kissed her forehead before, thinking she was asleep. Max knows what that feels like, chokes on her heart in her throat to think he wants to kiss her. 

A warm breath threads through her hair, and then Billy rumbles, “I know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Quiet again, just their breaths and Billy’s fingers scratching through her hair. He inhales deep, long enough for his stomach to fill the tiny gap between them. Then he sighs and it's over. Max dares to wiggle that much closer so all the space between them snuffs right out. He’s shirtless like always, but Max imagines the rasp of their skin if she weren’t in her sleep shirt. 

“I mean I know, Max, I know about your little crush on me. You’re not exactly subtle about it.” Billy shrugs, like what else can I say, and presses his mouth briefly to her forehead again. When he pulls back to speak, he leaves a wet spot from his lips. “I thought it would go away eventually. Teenagers get crushes all the time.”

Max shakes her head, flattens both hands to Billy’s chest. When no flinch comes, she leaves them there.

“This is different,” she insists, almost wants to claw at him so he’ll understand. “It’ll be August before we know it, and I’ll still feel this way. It’s not a crush anymore… I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.”

“You will. You’ll get over me and—”

“Don’t tell me how to feel,” she spits. Frustrated heat builds in her eyes, but she won’t let it spill. “I know you don’t feel the same, okay? But you don’t get to tell me how I feel.”

Annoyance spears through her. Of course Billy will try to downplay this, excuse away her feelings as fleeting. Meaningless despite how he’s never far from her thoughts. It would be one thing if they were having this conversation back when Max was still quiet around him. When she woke up every day worrying he would kick her out despite saying he wouldn’t. But this is six months down the road. How long before a crush turns into something more? She’s in unfamiliar territory, doesn’t know the answer. She won’t allow Billy to talk his way out of it, though. So Max lifts her head, scowl on her lips, and presses her irritation to his mouth. Just to shut him up. And because she wants to. Because this isn’t a crush.

It’s over in a second, Max too annoyed with him to make it last. At least Billy doesn’t push her away or start yelling at her. He just blinks at her in the dark, expression unchanged from before the kiss.

Billy huffs, grumbles, “Teenagers,” and then peels his hand off her. It doesn’t go far as he loops his arm around her waist. It clears the space around them and opens the way for Max to tip her head forward again. Billy murmurs, “Don’t,” but she doesn’t listen. In one ear and out the other as Max kisses him again.

This time he nudges her away, tugging on the back of Max’s sleep shirt until the collar digs into her throat. It’s either retreat or choke.

“Shouldn’t do that,” Billy says lowly with his eyes barely open. Not tired, just serious. 

Of course it hurts, so Max just bows her head and says, “I know. I just wanted to. I won’t do it again, I promise.” Her hands paw at bare skin, and Billy relaxes his grip on her shirt. He allows Max to tuck herself back under his chin to hide there. “I just wanted to do it once so I knew what it felt like. Please don’t hate me.”

Max closes her eyes to the rush of Billy sighing again. She’s never heard him sigh so much. Now is when he’ll nudge her away, send her back to the couch. Because it’s even more awkward, now. She’s not stupid, okay, she’s very aware this is weird. Picking up a teenage runaway from the street, parking her on his couch like the charity case she is. And now dealing with her squishy feelings on top of that. Feelings that could put Billy in danger if anyone found out or misconstrued them being together. Which has already happened. Max doesn’t want to cause him trouble; she’s never wanted to burden Billy or hurt him.

Confessing has probably ruined all that now, so Max can’t help her flinch when Billy’s hand returns to the back of her head. He pets her hair just as gently as all the other times. Only now when he bows his head to reach her forehead, he kisses her this time. When it’s over, his hand in her hair doesn’t let her up. So Max just blinks in the dark, not daring to speak a word or even breathe.

“I don’t hate you,” he says after what feels like forever. Now Max breathes, cuddles closer under Billy’s arm when he adds, “I’m not gonna encourage this, you understand? But I don’t hate you. And I’m not mad you told me. I just…” Billy’s hand tightens in her hair for a split second as he battles with words. “You know I can’t encourage this.”

“I know. And I know you don’t feel like that, it’s fine, it’s whatever.” Max presses her face to warm skin and winds her arm tighter around Billy. As tightly as her insides twist when she says, “I love you. I just wanted you to know.”

To that, Billy kisses her hair and murmurs deeply, “Go to sleep. I’m not calling out for my shift tomorrow, so it’s gonna be a long day if we stay up any later.”

It means so much to her that he lets her stay. That he’s still going to take her to work with him. She would respect his need for distance if Billy left her here. He’s unattached, proudly so. This is the exact opposite of that, probably has Billy circling the proverbial cage, desperate to squeeze between the bars that confine him. If he feels that way, he makes no mention of it. Billy relaxes beside Max with his nose in her hair, breathing her in. His hand shifting to pet up and down her back, rustling her sleep shirt, gives Max butterflies. She will not act on them. No matter how much she wants to wiggle up and kiss him again. If he would let her. Billy says he can’t encourage her. But will he deter her? Max drifts back to sleep warm and secure under the weight of Billy’s arm and wonders how much he’ll allow. How much she can get away with.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> =3c Happy Friday. Hope you... enjoy it. Ehehehe. 
> 
> Lucdarling and I have come up with a list of nsfw/sfw prompts for every day in October. I'll be attempting to write each day's prompt and post it (not as individual stories but as chapters, don't worry I'm not gonna go hog wild with tags, that's obnoxious). Most of the responses will be Billy/Max, although there will be other ships. The only ship I'll tag is Billy/Max. So this ship tag will mostly likely get one update a day from me. Should be fun! I've completed one of these in 2018, my first and only attempt. Idk, it's humiliating to me to start something like that and then not finish XD Even though it's just supposed to be for fun but whatever. So maybe look forward to that? They won't be long fills, just whatever I can manage in that same day.

According to Billy, every year for the Fourth of July, he takes the night shift. Apparently because he makes bank on all the drunk people needing rides. If he ignores some fares while casinos put on firework displays, he can have the best room in the house. They’re on the top floor of a parking garage, windows open to let the breeze and scent of explosives in. It tastes metallic as colorful bursts paint their faces through the windscreen of the cab. Seats rolled back and lying down, they enjoy the lights in mostly silence. Unless a firework explodes wrong. Then they get a few chuckles in.

Sure, she’s missing out on climbing into Billy’s bed and sleeping next to him. It’s nightly now, Billy not deterring Max but also not encouraging her. She hadn’t been lying all those months ago. She sleeps better with Billy nearby. So long as Billy doesn’t turn her away with a stern word, she’ll keep climbing into bed with him every night. Billy wasn’t lying all those months ago, either. Not once has he done more than loop an arm around her and kiss her forehead goodnight. All things that are of course weird to anyone outside looking in. Max ignores that, because it suits her purpose. Billy won’t kiss her any other way, won’t touch her any other way. Sometimes Max sneaks a peck in for herself. But that’s her kissing him. Not the other way around. Billy never makes the first move. 

Even now while fireworks boom and sparkle in the sky as Max takes off her seatbelt to initiate her plan, Billy will not touch her. His hands flinch up as Max climbs over the center console and squeezes herself into his lap. Other than that initial flinch, out of surprise or to steady her, Billy’s hands never touch down. They hover above her waist as Max shuffles to get settled, stoops down with her hands on his chest.

“Max,” he says in warning.

“I’m not gonna do anything,” she grumbles with her lips above his. “I’ve just been thinking about kissing you. Just let me do it.”

Max has discovered a weakness in Billy she never noticed until after her confession. That most of the time? When she asks for something? Billy gives it to her. Maybe not right away, like in the case of begging him for a ride to the mall. It took his schedule lining up better, getting off earlier in the day, for him to agree. Now so long as his day wasn’t total shit, he’ll take her there. Special dinner? Hers. Let her sleep next to him? Done. Kissing Billy is the same. He will put up a pathetic refusal at first, probably to preserve his promise to not encourage her. Max only needs to promise her interest is just kissing him and that she wants it badly. Billy never speaks his permission. He just keeps still and quiet while she paws at him. Her kisses are never returned, never reciprocated, but Max thinks about it sometimes. Billy kissing her back. What it would feel like. 

Max leans her full weight into Billy’s chest as she mouths clumsy kisses to his lips. Each time she steals them, she knows she has no clue what she’s doing. That she’s painfully awkward to someone like Billy. Billy probably hasn’t been kissed this poorly since he was her age. Her greenness irritates her to no end. That and the fact she even wants to kiss Billy at all. Max hums against him, just a dumb man, and craves this closeness so badly. It gets her heart thundering and her skin shivering to press her lips to his and feel such an intimate part of him. Not to mention that sometimes in his recliner, if Billy lets her sit long enough, she feels him get hard. That’s when he finally stops her, mumbling that he needs to use the bathroom or she’s distracting him from the TV. There’s nowhere for him to run to while they’re in the cab. 

When Billy’s hands settle on her waist, Max jolts on her knees hugging his hips. She even gives a little whine while pressing their lips together—too hard, like always. Billy nudges her back, though, so Max parts from him with a huff.

“What?”

Even with the sun set and casting the valley into shadows, mid-70s is still warm. They have the windows rolled down otherwise they’d slow cook in the cab. Still, Max shivers when Billy’s hands remain firm on her waist. He never touches her when they do this. Whatever he has to say, it must be important. 

“We need to talk.” He nods to her. “About this.”

Behind Max, more fireworks light up the sky. Her shoulders hunch up, block some of that light, when she says, “Okay…”

Billy frowns with his eyes closed, hands solid and real through Max’s clothes. It’s just a pair of shorts and a tank top tonight. It’s too hot in July, even at night, for much more. Hands resting on Billy’s chest, Max sits back on his thighs as she waits. The longer he lies under her in the flashes of fireworks in the distance, the tighter those little shoulders wind. When Billy is ready, his hands squeeze Max’s waist just before he opens his eyes.

“When I was 17, the parents of the girl I was dating caught us fucking. She was 13.” Billy rolls his lips flat over his words once they’re out. He doesn’t meet Max’s wide eyes in the dark. Instead, he stares somewhere near her chin. “Things were different back then. Getting caught with a girl younger than me was one thing. But the attitude at the time was you didn’t fool around unless you were married. At least our families believed that.”

“Billy…”

Blue eyes zip up to her.

“I’m not finished.” When Max just hunches in his lap, he takes to petting her sides up and down. He’s careful over her ribs lest he tickle her on accident. “Her parents had it out for me. They wanted to press charges, wanted to wait until I turned 18 so it would stick. Lucky for me my old man had friends in high places. The police and her parents agreed that if I left town when I turned 18, my record would be sealed and no one would ever know what they accused me of. So I left and never went back. I’ve lived here ever since.”

Curiosity fights a feeble battle against Max’s heartache and dread. It’s what leads her to speak instead of sitting there, mouth agape.

“Why are you telling me this? You… you weren’t hurting anyone. If she was your girlfriend—”

“It didn’t matter, Max,” he bites out. “She was 13, and that’s all that mattered. Her parents wanted to make an example out of me, label me a pedophile for the rest of my life. So every time you climb on me and kiss me and tell me you love me, I think back to that.”

Max rips her hands from Billy’s button up, blurts out, “Why didn’t you stop me? You said you wouldn’t encourage me, but if I’m making you remember all that bad stuff… why did you let me keep doing it?”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Billy says more to himself. He meets Max’s pleading gaze in the dark, the wets of their eyes collecting color from the fireworks. “I think we loved each other in that terrible way two teenagers love each other. It ruined my life, but it wasn’t all bad.”

Shaking her head to understand, Max asks, “Did you force her? Is that what her parents were making it out to be?”

“That’s what they told the cops. That’s not how it was, though. I never hurt her.” Billy bites more words back, gnashes them between his teeth as he closes his eyes and looks away. “Doesn’t matter, though. They wanted to make a monster out of me, so they did.”

Max wishes now more than ever that Billy had stopped her with a firm hand. She’s been hurting him all this time. As if he knows she’s about to spiral, Billy opens his eyes and meets hers again. When his hands at her waist squeeze, urge her closer, Max gives her balance over to him. Hands braced on Billy’s chest once more, Max guides herself down to huddle on top of him again. Only now she’s not desperate for kisses and his affection. Billy can’t see the way Max’s face crumbles a little. She’d never meant to make him relive that, didn’t even know she was hurting him. A shudder traces nails up and down her back as Billy loops an arm around her. His other hand finds a familiar spot on the back of her head to hold her. 

“I’ve never thought of you that way,” she whimpers. “You’re not like that. You wouldn’t do anything to me, I-I know you wouldn’t, Billy. I trust you.”

“It’s still not right.”

Max thumps her head on Billy’s shoulder. He grunts in kind. 

“Then why did you keep letting me do it? You didn’t answer me.”

Besides the distant boom of fireworks, silence fills the cab. Billy’s hand shifts lightly back and forth over Max’s hair. Like he’s afraid to touch her when they’re like this. Which is ridiculous, because he holds her every night, kisses her forehead before telling her to go to sleep every night. They should be asleep in his bed right now if not for the holiday. If not for the dead air between them, Max could fall asleep on Billy’s chest right now. She has to know why the hell he lets her do this when it brings up such painful memories. 

“Billy?”

“I don’t know,” he growls. His hand goes tight in her hair to keep Max right where she is, nose almost tucked to his throat. “I don’t know, all right? Maybe it’s because I’m selfish, maybe I’m lonely, maybe I’m a bad person, Max, I don’t know.”

Big hands remain tight on her, almost harsh. Billy’s insecurity speaks to Max, has her craning her head closer to him despite Billy’s grip on her. He flinches when soft lips peck kisses to his neck, down to the collar of his shirt, and then back up. Max isn’t sure why she’s doing it, only that she hopes it comforts Billy somehow. That he knows she doesn’t see him that way, that she loves him, that no matter what he does her feelings will persist. A soft noise of wanting wiggles its way out from Max’s throat. She bears her weight down on Billy, gives him another noise when he squeezes her in his arms. Butterflies in her stomach, Max wiggles a hand up to cup Billy’s sharp jaw and turn his head her way. He lets her, always lets her, and only sighs a little when she kisses him.

Pulling back just enough to speak, Max says, “I know I’d probably be dead without you. I woulda died from the heat or in a gross basement somewhere if you weren’t there to stop that guy from taking me.” She kisses him again, a brief brush of lips. Billy’s aren’t so firm, so stern under hers anymore, but she isn’t finished. “I can’t do anything to change how I feel about you, but… I’ll stop kissing you, if you want. I know I shouldn’t anyway, I know it’s weird. I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Billy murmurs just under her. He adjusts his grip on her too, mirroring her little hand cupping his jaw. He considers her for the span of a few breaths. Quiet. Almost soft in his devil eyes. He urges her down, rests their foreheads together, and sighs, “I could never hate you, honey.”

Billy still doesn’t kiss her back when Max nudges their lips together. Her throat is tight like she’ll cry, but she forces it all down to keep her mouth soft against Billy’s. He’s not as stern as he usually is. Maybe he even likes it, and that’s why he holds himself so still and quiet all the time. Like bursting through the surface of deep water with a gasp, Max sits up a bit and blinks down at Billy. It all makes sense when she thinks about it that way. That he’s conflicted about the right and wrong of this. Somewhere inside him, he has tenderness for her. But he has tripped into this pitfall before, is terrified of losing everything again. All over some little girl he brought home like a stray. At the same time, he cannot convince him to do the right thing and turn her away or bring her back to her mother. Maybe he is selfish and lonely. He’s not a bad person, though.

“Okay,” she says simply. Next words a bit more difficult, chewing them over, Max asks, “Do you want me to stop kissing you?”

She’s putting him on the spot. She knows it without watching Billy turn his eyes down and away from her, how his mouth goes stern again. Because he either has to tell her to stop—Max already knows he doesn’t want her to stop—or admit to himself and her what he wants. Billy is the adult, the one dependent upon his morals. He knows all of this is wrong. Max isn’t concerned with right or wrong here. She knows what she wants. They aren’t hurting anyone. No one has to know. 

They’re still in each other’s breathing space, dark in the cab, when Billy’s hand at Max’s jaw nudges her down. Come here. Their skin is clammy from sweat, but Max ignores it to take another kiss. Billy guiding her down to kiss him is all the permission she needs. Talk is cheap. She understands this. To be greedy would risk overstaying her welcome. This is enough, Billy’s silent desire for them to continue. Unlike him, she won’t hound him until Billy spits the words out. Kiss over once Max pulls back, she lingers on top of him for a moment or two more. She commits the firmness of Billy’s body and the sweat-cigarettes-cologne of him to her memory. Max is the one to sit up and retreat from Billy’s lap. She never wants Billy to have to tell her that’s enough. Even that minor rejection is too much for her.

As they fix their seats and right themselves, Billy reaches out to Max’s hair once more. She freezes twisted at the waist to dig her seatbelt out from between the seat and the door. Surprise rather than fear roots her to the seat. If Billy wants to pet her, be the one to reach for her first, she won’t turn him down. It’s over all too soon. They need to start picking up fares after all. The silence between them once Billy draws his hand away to start the engine is the comforting sort. They’re fine. Everything’s fine. Billy doesn’t hate her for her feelings or the affection she takes. It won’t be her taking forever. She won’t be 15, 16, 17 forever.

“Gonna stop for a leak and coffee. Grab something from the snack shop if you’re hungry.”

If the cab lot weren’t a ten minute drive, they’d just head there for coffee and a bathroom. It’s safer, what with them having to pull onto the gated lot. Billy only visits certain stores—like Lorena’s—and certain gas stations he deems are safe enough. He would know—the streets and locations of the Sin City as familiar as an old friend. The gun tucked under Billy’s arm lends him a powerful countermeasure to any would-be assailant. Max knows she’s safe with him, gun or no. Max still looks to Billy when they step into the humming fluorescence of the gas station. He nudges her towards the bathrooms in the back, follows her closely behind. The cashiers all know who Billy is, wave and call out to him. Some even know Max now, and she returns their smiles.

Max soaks up the frigid AC clinging to the tile walls of the bathroom. Once they leave the gas station, it’ll be back to the cab and back to the streets to pick people up. They can never quite build up a decent bubble of cooled air in the car with people coming and going. So she takes this moment, perched on the toilet with her shorts bunched around her knees, to just enjoy the cold privacy. Billy may complain about her ‘taking too long,’ but he won’t actually leave. It’s all empty threats. One of them has to maintain a semblance of power between them—that he’s the adult; he’s the decision maker. Max smirks with her eyes closed, knows that’s not the case. Billy just needs everyone else to believe that. Sighing, Max rights her clothes and herself, washes her hands at the sink when a loud bang has her jumping and yelping.

“What the hell?”

The bang had been so hollow, no echo. It raises all the hairs on the back of her neck until the skin stings. Max rubs at it with wet fingers, too curious and worried to dry her hands. When she peeks out of the bathroom, the cashier stands at the front door, face nearly pressed to the glass.

“What was that noise?” Max asks, craning her head around to see.

“Sounded like a gunshot,” the cashier grunts. “Came from outside. You better stay in here until Billy comes back. He walked back to his cab to smoke.”

Nape of her neck still painfully tight, Max shakes her head and shoves the door open. The cashier calls after her for her to come back, to wait here. Much like the hook in her belly that had once drawn her to lie down beside Billy, a similar thread jerks her onto the parking lot. Late at night like this, Billy always parks next to a pump even though he’s not buying gas. It’s better lit where the pumps are. Less likely for someone to come walking up on them. Max rounds the boot of the cab, hand dragging over yellow paint. The driver’s door is open, one of Billy’s legs hanging out. A smile tries to worm its way on Max’s face as she takes the last steps to stand beside him. Her head can’t make much sense of the front of Billy’s white shirt going dark red where he’s slumped into the center console. Her heart and stomach can, and both go racing for the bottom of her as she screams.

“Billy!”

Mindless to the blood and his groan, Max throws her hands into the car. She’s not sure where he’s been shot. Just connects the muffled sound of it from the bathroom to him. Under Billy’s arm resting near the gear shift, the box he keeps his fares in is popped open. Bare, money long gone. His two shirts are soaked through when Max tries to pry them out of Billy’s slacks. To do what, she isn’t sure. Maybe press her hands to the wound to stop the bleeding? Thick copper wafting up from him makes her gag, though. It’s so much, getting everywhere the more Max paws at him. He’s been sitting here for maybe a few minutes, but his clothes are ruined. Big hands tremble when they reach for her. Max has never seen them do that, freezes at the sight of them.

“Go… back to the snack shop.”

Heart tripping again over how thin Billy’s voice is, Max shakes her head.

“No! No, I have to help you, tell me what to do.” When Billy’s gory hands just push her away, Max snags them in hers to stop him. “Billy, you’re bleeding so much, just let me help you!”

“No,” he snarls with a wince. Every shift of the car, of his body must be agony. He’s lost all the color in his face, and his hands are ice in Max’s. “He could… come back. Get outta here.”

This is the deep end of the pool. A riptide on a beach. Panic sends water clear over Max’s head as she struggles in Billy’s hands. This is too much for her. He’ll die if she doesn’t do something, but she’s fucking useless to him!

“I-I’ll call 911, there’s gotta be a phone inside.”

Billy’s fingers dig into her hands when he wheezes, “Cops’ll take you away if they find you with… me.”

It’s either that or let Billy bleed out in the car. Without any frame of reference for that, how long that would take, how much blood Billy has lost, how much is fatale, Max tries again to tear her hands out of Billy’s grip. When her skin slips through the blood and Billy’s flagging strength, she knows she’s running out of time.

“I’ll figure something out,” she pleads, hands sort of hovering just above Billy’s heaving chest. Each breath must be a knife twisting in him. She’s not even sure if the bullet passed through him or if it’s stuck inside him somewhere. “I need to go, Billy, I-I don’t know what else to do.” Her throat winds up so tight that she can’t even scream. Now is when pesky, useless tears stream hot down her face as Max whines, “I don’t want you to die!”

Bloody fingers bump over her jaw as Billy tries to thumb her tears away. He only manages to smear red across her pretty face. When Max opens her eyes, about to shake apart from how hard she’s crying, she finds Billy staring at her. So calm like nothing bad is happening. Like this is one of her nightmares and she’ll wake up tucked under his arm any second now. A whimper from her knocks him out of whatever fugue state he’d been stuck in. He deflates, weaker than when she discovered him. His hand trembles at her jaw with the effort to hold her, so Max shuffles closer. Mindful of her head, Max ducks back into the cab to be close to him. She tries not to think about the dark stain at Billy’s gut or how clammy he is, how his finger shiver on her skin. She would hug him if she thought it wouldn’t hurt him.

“Max,” he whispers. His face pinches with a wince. There’s blood in his mouth, staining his teeth. When Billy next manages a breath, it’s loud in his throat. But he’s breathing. Blue eyes find the strength to flutter open and meet hers when he adds, whisper slurring now, “I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”

Max just shakes her head in his hand, reaches up with her own trembling like a leaf to trap him to her cheek.

“Don’t say that, just let me go call—”

Louder, maybe pain props up his voice, Billy grinds out, “I love you, Max. You hear me?” His short nails dig into her cheek for only a second before Max’s grip on him is the only thing keeping Billy’s hand up. He breathes even harder now but still manages to repeat, “I love you. Fuckin shoulda… told you sooner. I’m sorry.”

A sigh rattles out of him like he’s a broken squeaky toy. And then nothing after that, just Billy sagging deeper into the front seat. About to scream again, Max drops Billy’s hand, spins around, and tears across the parking lot. The cashier is still at the door, no one inside. When he sees the blood on Max’s hands, how pale she is and that she’s crying, he runs back behind the register before she even reaches the door. When she spills into the cool of the snack shop, the cashier is already on the phone.

“Yea, a cab driver got shot here, hurry up and send someone, he’s bleeding out!” The cashier grimaces to himself, pulls his head away from the phone to say to Max, “Everything’s gonna be okay, doll. Go clean up in the bathroom, help is on the way.” But his attitude comes right back when he barks at the 911 operator.

Max stays by the register until he hangs up. Just when he shoots her a pinched look, why are you still standing here, Max pleads, “Don’t tell them I’m with Billy. The cops will think he’s a pervert or something, please just…”

He flicks an eyebrow up at her, drawls, “They’re gonna wanna talk to you. Me too, they’ll probably wanna see the surveillance tapes. Don’t go running off, that’ll only make things worse.”

Billy’s blood is still on Max’s hands when she grips the counter, yells, “Yea, it’ll make things worse for Billy!” Frustrated tears prick her eyes, but Max just hollers over them, “I’m not with him, okay? I just… I’m the one who found him like that. Don’t tell them who I am!”

She’s thinking five steps ahead, ignoring the possibility of Billy cold and dead in the cab. Because he’s not. That can’t happen; he can’t die. So Max plans damage control. The cops don’t need to know who she is or her affiliation with Billy. Those details are meaningless to the crime committed. Max nearly hyperventilates as she stands in the bathroom once more. Billy’s blood is sticky on her hands, so she washes them while avoiding her eyes in the mirror. Splashing water on her face at last, Max grips the chilly sink for dear life. Funny to think she’d found relief from the heat and some peace maybe five minutes ago in this same spot. Now it takes everything in her not to buckle to the floor and wail.

There’s no time for that. Max needs to be calm when the police show up. Just… explain that she noticed something was weird with the cab driver after she heard a gunshot. She found him like that, tried to help, and then ran into the snack shop to call for help. Ah, but the security tapes, fuck! They’ll show Billy pulling up and her climbing out of the car! Fuck, fuck fuck…

Max lying comes as naturally as breathing to her. So she plays it up when the cops get here, crying and nearly inconsolable. She tells how she was walking the streets, just a homeless kid, when Billy drove up and offered to take her somewhere, mistaking her for just a normal kid. If the lady cop speaking to her believes her, Max isn’t sure, just sniffles wetly when she recounts the gunshot, running outside, and then waiting for help to arrive. Lucky for Max the snack shop’s security cameras cannot record audio. So no one hears her begging the cashier to cover for her and Billy. Her plan set, Billy already wheeled away in the back of an ambulance, Max gives the cops the slip. She overheard them talk about which hospital the paramedics have taken Billy. They obviously need to question him when he can talk. 

Distantly, Max thinks her feet ache a little inside her sneakers as she runs onto the parking lot of the hospital. There’s probably blood on her clothes from earlier, and she’s definitely sweat through them while trailing far behind the path of the ambulance. It’s not until Max is panting at the front desk, trying to ask where Billy is, that she realizes she doesn’t know his last name. No last name, no birthdate, nothing. When Max’s confidence falters—he was a cab driver shot at the filling station near the Sahara, he was brought in an ambulance maybe half an hour ago, just let me see him!—she skitters away from the nurse, away from the woman’s suspicious stare. Max considers so briefly just wandering the halls of the hospital. If she walks with her head held high, glaring at anyone who looks at her, no one should bother her. She has no idea where Billy is, if he’s even alive. That fear roots her to a spot outside the emergency room, some smokers loitering about.

What other choice does she have but to wait here? She can’t get in Billy’s apartment without his keys. It’s too far of a walk right now with her freaking out. Wandering the streets might bring her trouble. Besides that, she doesn’t want to leave when she knows Billy is here somewhere. It was just one bullet, after all. He wasn’t shot in the head or heart. It can’t do too much damage. Can it? What if he dies? What if there is no going back to his apartment? She can’t end up sleeping on the street again. Not after almost a year with Billy in peace. So Max’s fear and hope combine into cement to stick her to the sidewalk outside. She won’t hear news about Billy this way, but she doesn’t know what else to do. She’ll fall asleep standing up at this rate, wobbles like a drunk as the night stretches on.

Eventually a security guard mistakes her for a homeless person and shoos her away, threatens to call the cops if she doesn’t leave. There’s a police station right down the street, the guard threatens. It takes all night, Max huddling in her tank top and shorts so defeated and alone and hurt, to drag herself to that police station. Billy being ripped from her reduces all of Max’s attitude and confidence to that of a child lost in a department store. It’s morning when she shuffles into the police station. She stands at the front desk with almost none of the bravado she’d had at the hospital. Tearful eyes refuse to meet the questioning gaze of the officer who addresses her.

“Can I help you?”

“Um… I’m not sure where to go…” Max picks her head up, overwhelmed all at once with the fear that Billy is dead and she’ll never see him again. That she’s alone again. “My name is Maxine Mayfield. I ran away from home a year ago… Can I call my mom?”

Max has lie upon lie hot and ready on her tongue for her second questioning of the night. Billy is a ghost in her story. No mention of him as she explains the year she’s lived on the streets, running away from home in San Diego. When Max hands over her home address and her home phone number, it’s all a waiting game after that. She’s not sure what’s become of her mother. If Susan still works for the airline, if she even still lives in the same apartment. If that all reaches a dead-end well… It’s too much uncertainty, too much unknown to face. Max makes a pillow of her arms at the interview table and rests her head there.

If she’s still being recorded, Max doesn’t care about preserving her pride. Her sniffles and whimpers are muffled in her arms as she wishes Billy were here, that he was all right and nothing bad happened to him tonight. It makes them coming to an understanding earlier feel so hollow. What was the point if Billy was only going to be taken away from her? She can’t even enjoy the fact that he loves her, now. It doesn’t matter if he’s dead.

Dozing miserable in her arms, someone eventually comes back to tell Max her mom is on her way. By noon, Max is still plenty numb when Susan bursts into the room, already in tears, and collapses beside Max. Her hands hurt when she tugs Max out of the chair and pulls the quiet girl to her chest. Max thinks it’s funny her mom is the only one carrying on crying and clinging to her. It takes a few pets of her hair, Susan apologizing through the warble in her voice, to coax some feeling into Max. Now that she’s not alone, some hope returns. So she unravels her stoic silence and cries into her mom’s shoulder. No one makes mention of Max’s clean clothes, how she’s clean from head to toe. How she’s well taken care of for supposedly being on the streets for a year. Susan just scoops her up like nothing happened, like Max didn’t admit it was the boyfriend who drove her away. Susan makes all sorts of promises to Max while they cling to each other. Susan will be a better mother; she’s quit working for the airline; she broke up with her boyfriend already; she’ll never let anyone hurt Max again. 

With the initial wave of emotion passing her, it’s a numb car ride home. Max leans heavily on the door with her forehead smudging the window. Billy hadn’t been a part of her story to the cops and Susan, so he’s not a part of the ending. She won’t receive word that he’s okay, that he’s been discharged and is on his way home. When—if—he gets there, he won’t know what happened to her. He won’t know if she’s okay, that she’s not hurt or trapped somewhere. He won’t know unless Max contacts him somehow. She doesn’t know his address, just knows where the apartment is. No phone number. Nothing. She knows the cab company he works for. Could she? Call and ask about him? She can’t think of anything worse than calling only for someone to tell her he died last night from the gunshot. That fear will keep her away. It’s better this way, she thinks while hiding her eyes against her forearm. It’s better not to know, because then she can pretend Billy is okay. Searing tears already fill up behind Max’s eyelids as she curls up in the backseats of Susan’s car. It’s been a long, terrible night for her. When she finds sleep, she can’t help but imagine Billy behind her, heavy hand over her navel. Hers covering that spot is a poor replacement, brings her little comfort as she dreams about him. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> =D Final chapter! Thank you for following me on this journey. I have uhhh four porny fics waiting on the back burners. I'll? Probably post one of the short ones on Monday, because it's short. But also I really am going to try and make an effort to complete the 31 days of prompts Lucdarling and I came up with. To really stick it to this motivation issue I've been having, like haha you can't stop me. But we'll see. Such a blow to my pride if I don't finish all 31 days tho UHG. Anyway, enjoy~

The request for a pick-up from the Greyhound station comes in just as Billy considers calling it a day. It’s the first week of October and still blazing hot. The summer heat seems to last and last the longer Billy lives here. He tries not to think about the date. Yesterday was October 5th. It’s not any easier to ignore the significance of that date this year than it was last year. Even with so much time passing, there’s a lot he tries not to think about these days.

The radio on his dash chirps.

“Billy, you got this one or not? Lady coming in from San Diego. I don’t know why this broad called asking for you by name. I can send Frank instead, I know it’s near quitting time for you.”

Grumbling, he jams his thumb into the talk button harder than necessary.

“Nah, I’m like right up the street from the bus depot. No point in calling anybody else, I’ll pick-up.”

Someone requesting him by name is a little strange. Too strange for him to pass on the opportunity. Must be a woman. Even when he’s courteous towards customers, he isn’t bending over backwards for them. Especially not other men. So the only customers who would remember him are women. Family isn’t a thing to Billy, so it’s not some surprise visit from some fuck he doesn’t want to see anyway. Running a hand through his curls to maybe fluff them up a little, Billy keeps his expectations low. For all he knows, it’s a little, old granny who just likes eye candy. 

The bus depot is mostly deserted when Billy rolls up. Good, there won’t be a fight between his passenger and someone thinking he’s available. Besides an employee or two roaming around, just a girl stands at the curb for pick-up. At this time of the year it’s already starting to get dark at 5. So Billy leaves the headlights on as he steps out. If a young girl, certainly not older than 20, is calling and asking for him specifically, he’ll do curbside. Why not if she’s cute? She only has a duffel bag and a backpack with her. Traveling light. Maybe she’s one of those teens trying to reclaim her mother’s glory hippie days. Billy leaves the trunk shut, it won’t be necessary, and walks around the hood of the car. His hand is already out to take the girl’s duffel when his eyes focus in the dark, take in who’s actually staring at him with a smile slowly spreading across her face.

Her little chin and the lines already draw from her nose to the corners of her mouth. And all those freckles under her green-blue eyes. Either she’s cut her hair or it’s just pulled back in a braid. Like all those times he’d taken her to swim at a resort. He hasn’t been back since he lost her.

“Max?”

Her top, front teeth are still big, almost like a bunny. They bite at her bottom lip to try and stop emotion from shivering onto her face. Max holds it in for a second more before she shakes her pack off, drops it to the ground with her duffel, and then leaps for him with her arms already out.

Lucky for Billy there’s no one around to see him stumble under their weight and scramble at Max to keep her upright. She’s taller, a little softer. Less knob-kneed girl, more scrappy young woman. Her hair is frizzy in her braid like she’s been touching it. Billy grapples with Max’s arms to hold her still. Max loops her arms around his neck to hold on, helping to slide Billy’s hands to her shoulders. It’s cramped like this with their heads together and Max’s shoulders shaking. He doesn’t even hesitate to hold her waist, even rests there for a breath or two. He feels the difference a year has made and flinches away like Max burns him. Her pretty sigh in his ear is what stops Billy from gently prying her off him.

“You’re really here,” she murmurs. Max turns her face to hide against Billy’s throat, such a familiar thing, and then whimpers, “You’re okay.”

Of course she wouldn’t know. There’d been no way to figure out what happened to Max when he was finally discharged. A patched-up bullet wound and a living room covered in Max’s things was all he had left of her. What could he do? He didn’t have a phone number or address for her in San Diego. Where she’s apparently been all this time. Dispatch said his passenger was coming in from San Diego. Up until this moment, for all Billy knew, Max got snatched off the street by whoever shot him. Or just anyone prowling. She never came back. Like she never existed. Even now with her clawing at his hair and crying softly on his shoulder, she’s not quite real.

“Y-yea,” he says softly, the wind blown out of him. Ignoring any potential audience, Billy’s arms slip around Max for true. He’s finally holding her again after all this time. He allows himself the luxury of leaning his head on Max’s warm hair and just holds her for a spell. “Yea, honey, I’m okay.”

Max retreats slowly, although she does not withdraw entirely from Billy. Once some space grows between them, he’s aware of how strange this must look to any onlookers. A teenage girl almost bowling over a taxi driver, them acting very familiar with each other. Almost as a second thought, Billy’s hands once more flinch away from Max’s. She snorts at him and twists around to grab her bags. Billy remembers they exist at the same time, but he can’t quite accept them sitting there. Or understand why Max has them. It’s a lot to deal with all at once: her showing up, hugging him like that, all his affection for her rising from the depths of him. So why does she have bags?

“What’s all this?”

Max hefts the strap of her duffel over a shoulder. Billy doesn’t need to touch her again to know she’s still so slim under her t-shirt. Dainty shoulders that give a little shrug as she smiles at him. It’s a delicate thing. Vulnerable even though she tries to flatten it between her lips, won’t look at him for very long.

“Can we start driving while I talk? It’s hot out here, and I’m beat from the bus ride.”

He reaches out a hand to take her bag rather than let her carry it. Max’s smile turns into a smirk, and she gently pushes his hand away. Not without brushing her fingers over the back of his hand, holding him for maybe a split second. She’d been forward as a 15 year old with a crush on him. Now she’s… well, surely she’s 17, now. Perhaps the distance and the unknown, if either of them were okay, has made her bold. Because once they drop into their respective seats in the cab, Max stretches across the center console for him. Her little hand at his jaw is not timid as it drags his head around and down. The rest of Max isn’t shy either as she kisses him. It feels like the first time all over again, them lying in his bed after her nightmare. 

Sighing as she pulls away, Max watches him for a breath or two before asking softly, “I missed you. Did you miss me?”

Only every day until he’d grown numb to it, forced to carry on because there was no other choice.

Instead, Billy huffs a laugh and drawls, “Only a little bit.”

He holds her stare with one corner of his mouth tugging up. Of course he’s missed her. Having her around would have fast-tracked his recovery. Max is no nurse or caretaker—hell, he’s barely decent at that—but she would have made it easier. At least she would have given him peace of mind that she was safe. So he had to deal with her disappearance and the physical reminder of their separation all at the same time. Just this big part of his life gone in an instant, and yet no one knew. Because to the adults in his life, Max was either a blip on their radar or they’d been fed a lie. So it didn’t matter to them what became of her. It was his private suffering. 

“Jerk,” Max says with a little laugh, rolling her eyes for flourish. She returns to her side of the car, seatbelt clicking into place. Max’s smile sobers up just as she says, “So my bags and why I’m here…”

“Go on.”

Her fingers play with each other in her lap as Billy drives. No radio. The silence gives her time to think about what she’s going to say. She must have quite a story for him. A lot can happen in a year.

“So I didn’t know you were alive until I got here,” she confesses, staring at her hands, out the window, and then back to her hands. “I just hoped you were, because my mom’s dating a new piece of shit, and I can read the writing on the wall, you know? They held me back a year at school, too. You only have to go until you’re 16, so I said fuck it and left.”

Billy hums and nods, waves her on to continue.

Max sags into the seat, head tipped back when she says, “This is gonna sound so cheesy, but after you got… Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I thought it would go away since I was home, but it didn’t. It got worse when Mom started dating again. I just wanted to leave and be here with you again.” She glances his way when she pauses, and Billy spares her the briefest of glances. “So I put all my money on black. I bought another bus ticket here and called the cab company to see if you could pick me up. It wasn’t until the dispatcher said you’d be here in five minutes that I knew you were alive.”

Billy itches for a cigarette when he asks, “So you packed some bags and got on a bus just hoping I’d be here?” He frowns and glances at Max for a few seconds. “What would you have done if you got here and I wasn’t around, huh?”

“Don’t be a jerk, I brought enough money to buy a return ticket this time. I learned a lot from my first time running away, okay?”

“About that. How is it your mother isn’t going to send police banging down my door to bring you back to San Diego?”

Max is still turned to him when she lifts her chin like a brat, says, “Because no one knows I lived with you while I was here.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“I just didn’t tell anyone I lived with you.” She reaches forward, fingers needing something else to fidget with, and turns the fan down on the AC blasting them. “I tried to find you in the hospital, but I didn’t know your last name. So the nurses wouldn’t tell me where you were. And when I tried to wait and see if you would eventually come out, the security guard threatened to call the cops on me. So I just…” She shrugs, turns away from Billy again to stare at the Strip passing them by in flashing neon. “I just went to the police station down the street and cried for my mom. She brought me home the same day. I just lied and told everyone I lived behind one of the resorts. Nobody knows about you.”

‘About us’ is what she means. Billy hears it loud and clear, finally exhales after stifling his breaths for so long. So no one will be breaking his door down with pitchforks and torches for feeling up another teenage girl. It’s a relief that takes control of his hands and has him lighting a cigarette. Max waits until he gets a puff or two, pulling himself back from his panicked edge, to speak again.

“I guess I could have called the cab company sooner to check on you, but… I was just so scared they’d answer and tell me you were dead or didn’t work for them anymore. Because if you didn’t drive a cab for that company, there was no other way I could find you. I think I always knew I’d run away again, just like you said.” Max pauses again and tips her head back. Whether it’s just to work some tension out or maybe stop herself from crying, Billy can’t be sure. He just holds tightly to his cigarette and the steering wheel while she works it out. Max’s voice is thick when she goes on, “It wasn’t even bad this time. I just needed to see you again. I needed to know if you were still alive, if you still…”

“What? If I still what?”

Billy flicks his cigarette out the window. When he changes which hand holds the wheel, freeing his right, Max reaches out for him. She only gets clingy with him when she’s scared or vulnerable. So even though Billy flinches when Max takes his hand in both of hers, he lets her have it. Billy just hopes she hadn’t caught this flinch or any of his others. It’s not that he doesn’t want to touch her or for her to not touch him. Them interacting like this, touching each other and being just on the side of intimate, isn’t any less wrong just because Max is older. She’s still underage. All of Billy's reservations about Max surge back to the surface. And now with his hand held between her dainty ones, he suspects he knows what she means. If he still…

“You know,” Max mumbles. “It was the last thing you said to me. It’s like… it’s okay, if you don’t, I get it. It’s been a year, and maybe you started seeing Cheryl again or someone else, I just… wanted to know.”

It’s out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“I’m not seeing Cheryl.” His hand tightens around one of hers. “I’m not seeing anybody.”

Billy makes sure to keep his gaze pointed straight ahead during the ensuing silence. He leaves his hand relaxed between Max’s. It’s hers for as long as he doesn’t need it to drive. Just as Billy licks his lips to say something, anything, Max’s voice comes through her sigh, so relieved.

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath and starts massaging Billy’s hand. Or just squeezing it. Fidgeting. “Do you still live in the same apartment?”

“Yep.”

Max nods in his periphery.

“I can always buy a ticket and go back to San Diego, but… Can I stay with you again? Like before?”

Billy huffs a laugh before he can stop himself.

“What, you wanna sleep on my couch again like a kid?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“You wanna play weird, messed-up house again?”

Max yanks on his index finger to pop the joint. It doesn’t hurt, but Billy is thankful he has the brake pushed all the way to the floor when he jumps. 

“Don’t be a jerk,” she murmurs. “I already said I can leave. I wanna be here. Either you want me here or you don’t.”

“Max—”

“You don’t have to tell me right this second.” She squeezes his hand again, clinging to it with all her strength. It’s enough to get him to zip his lips and wait for her to say something first. It’s only when Max relaxes her grip on Billy’s hand does she try to speak. “I’m not expecting things to be like they were, okay? I know it was weird. I don’t hold anything against you. I still don’t think you’re a bad person. I feel the same about you now as I did then.”

Funny that she would tell him damn-near daily that she loved him. And now she can’t or won’t say it, is trying to feel out where Billy’s sentiments lie. If they’ve changed their layout or if like his apartment everything is the same. The things she’d left behind are packed in a box in his closet, shoved all the way to the back so he can’t see it when he gets dressed every day. He is a selfish, lonely bastard, throat winding a little tight at the idea of sending her away. He should. She should be in school, graduating high school eventually. Getting a job, a family. Not carving out a space inside him that he’s too foolish to pave over. He is weak, though. More lonely than he thought once she was gone.

“You can stay,” he says lowly as they pull up to the cab lot. Billy parks and finally meets her eyes for the first time since they’d climbed in. The hope on Max’s face makes her look as young as she is. “I still feel the same way about you, too. Even though I shouldn’t.”

Billy had plans for after work today. The shopping needs doing. The bathroom could use a once over. He won’t be doing any of that shit with Max plopping into the passenger seat of his car as they drive home. He wonders if she still thinks of his apartment as home. Billy rubs a hand over his face when he considers the year they’d spent together. Almost a year anyway. It happened, she was real on his couch, at his kitchen table, under his arm while they slept. And yet connecting that knob-kneed Max with the one beside him is almost impossible. She’s still Max; it’s only been a year. He doesn’t know what to do with her, now. Strange when he’d been so sure back then: that he loved her dearly, hated himself for it, and so promised not to corrupt her. Max catches him looking at her when they idle at a stop light, and Billy hates to think she sees right through him straight to the hunger still lingering in him.

Wiry smirk on her face, Max asks, “What are you thinking about?”

He should have some restraint. Shouldn’t he? She’s still young, still naive. Anything more than the vaguely-wrong affection he’d given her in the past would be taking advantage of her. He didn’t feel that way with Evelyn. He wasn’t 18 yet when they were discovered. They knew each other since they were kids. It was different, despite how her parents made him out to be a cradle robber. The older he gets, the more he looks back on those memories and knows he was playing with fire. He was wrong to continue their little childhood crush. Just like then, though, he is a lonely, selfish creature. He wants Max, knows he does. Because he wants to control her? Because he wants her affection? It’s twisted up somehow even though he would rather step in front of a bus than hurt her. 

Lips flattening, Billy turns his head back to the road and murmurs, “You.”

Max’s silence after that is a blessing. The only words they exchange are if Max is hungry, if she wants anything from the burger joint Billy is stopping at for dinner. The same they’d eaten at a few times. She agrees with softness in her voice. Billy tries not to pick that softness apart or disturb it too much. They’re on eggshells. Billy reads the atmosphere plain as day, grits his teeth about it. Something about Max being a rescue off the street, her being even younger than she is now, made it easier to be around her. Somehow. Maybe Billy could lie to himself back then about his affection for her and the nature of that affection. It’s different with it out in the open and him still resisting it. For her sake. She deserves more than a run-down taxi driver with skeletons in his closet. But he can’t push her away even when she tugs him to the couch to eat next to her instead of at the kitchen table.

Wrappers crinkling in their hands, the silence they’d driven home in persists as they eat. They have the whole couch to relax on. No matter how Billy shuffles, Max is tight to his side. He gives up trying to eat with his right hand when his arm bumps into her with every movement. So he rests it on his thigh, still in his work clothes. Their thighs brush when Max leans on him. She’s content to take little nibbles off her burger while resting her head on the ball of his shoulder. Billy’s stomach flips when she stays there. He should pump the brakes on this. Before he knows it, she’ll be climbing into his lap like she used to, pawing at him and kissing him. Billy’s dread of corrupting Max wars with his desire for her. She sighs at his shoulder and nuzzles him, so hungry for closeness even now. Maybe more so what with the time and distance between them. She’ll want to make up for that lost time. Billy knows she’d still be in his life if not for him getting shot on the Fourth of July. 

Much like those initial days when Billy had brought her inside, Max sticks close. She’s beside him at the sink as he washes his hands from dinner, lingers in his open doorway as he changes out of his clothes. Billy doesn’t turn his back to her while doing it, only needing to strip down to his boxers. Green-blue eyes are on him the entire time. It’s only the thin air between them that keeps Max at bay. When Billy turns to her fully clothed again, the loneliness in his heart wiggles like a worm. Uncomfortable. He tugs open the second drawer of his dresser where he keeps the threadbare t-shirts he wears around the apartment. The ones she’d slept in a year ago. Shaking one loose, Billy holds it out to her. She’ll have to nudge herself off the doorjamb to take it.

“Here.”

Of course she probably has something in her duffel. This isn’t a runaway done out of desperation. Max planned this time. It would just be nice to see her wear his shirts again. She may not want to, who the hell knows.

There’s no hesitation when Max steps in front of Billy to take the shirt. She holds it in both hands, thumbs petting over the faded lettering on the front. Without a second glance, Billy isn’t sure which black t-shirt this is. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Max flashes him a smile, squirming in her nervous way, and drapes the shirt over her arm. Green-blue eyes glance around Billy’s bedroom like they’re searching for something. Billy knows nothing has changed since she disappeared. Same bed, same furniture, same him. He wonders where she’ll end up tonight. If Max will follow him down to bed or if she’ll claim the couch. She can have whatever she wants.

The glint of Billy’s gun resting on his bedspread catches her eyes. Max shuffles to the edge of the bed, flicks the clasp free on the holster, and then slides the weapon free. Billy knows it’s heavier than she thinks. It’s also fucking loaded, so Billy takes the two steps between them to gently pry it from dainty hands.

“Nobody ever taught you gun safety, huh?”

He could be mean and tear into her, sneer at her foolishness. Instead he just makes quick work of removing the magazine and ejecting the bullet in the chamber. The pistol is harmless steel, now, so he hands it back to her. It’s heavy even without lead.

Max turns the pistol this way and that in her hands. Billy can’t help his flinch when she lifts it with an eye closed, aiming in his direction. He nudges the barrel away from him with a finger.

“First rule, always treat a gun like it’s loaded. You never wanna make that mistake, trust me.”

Max frowns, grumbles, “It’s not loaded.”

“Doesn’t matter. And never point a gun at someone unless you’re prepared to shoot them.”

She nods and grasps the gun so awkwardly in two hands, feet shuffling way too far apart. Max’s face pinches with effort when she tries to squeeze the trigger.

“Harder than that,” Billy says, just watching her. “You have to really squeeze the trigger to fire. It’s not supposed to be easy.”

Billy doubts Max would ever fire a gun in the first place. She’s never before. Billy remembers his first time squeezing a trigger. It took his father hollering all sorts of insults to convince him to do it. Humorless smile wiggling at the corners of Billy’s mouth, he thinks he recalls imaging his father’s face instead of the can he was shooting. Made it easier. So he won’t begrudge her that, but Max’s stance puts a wrinkle on Billy’s face. He steps up behind her without thinking about it.

Below, his foot knocks into one of hers to square at least one leg under her. The other follows suit with Billy’s hands on Max’s hips. Once her feet are basically right, those hands drift up to Max’s elbows. A nudge gets her to lift them, both hands still wrapped around the grip. She’s right handed, and it takes a second, his own hands flinching, to orientate them to suit her. Right hand covering hers at the trigger, Billy squeezes Max’s left wrapped around the grip. 

Head bowed to her ear, Billy murmurs, “When you fire, there’s recoil. If you tense up, you can pull a muscle in your arm. If you’re firing a shotgun and holding it wrong, you can dislocate your shoulder or break it. Always take a second to make sure you’re holding the gun right and got your feet under you.” His hands drop from Max’s still wrapped around the pistol. He lingers long enough to flip the safety off out of habit. “Now squeeze the trigger.”

Max’s arms shake again, and Billy knows she’s holding her breath with the effort. But as her hands shake around the grip, she finds the strength in her to pull the trigger. Without a bullet to fire, the gun just clicks when Max finally succeeds. She sags a little against Billy’s chest, grin on her face. He doesn’t stumble when he catches her weight. Which is a good thing since Billy can’t take his eyes off the pale column of Max’s throat. She sighs, opens her eyes, and then looks at him without moving her head.

“I wish I knew how to do this back then. I kept telling myself I should have been at the car when you got… shot.” Looking away, Max stands up and takes her weight off Billy. Max lifts the gun in both hands and runs her fingers over the barrel. “I was really afraid of this when we first met. I was glad you always took it with you when you left. Now I wish I could have done something. Maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

The fact that Max blames even a tiny bit of herself for the shooting breaks Billy’s heart. Never once—from that terrifying moment of blood and pain until even now—has Billy even thought to blame Max. She was always innocent to him, in every facet of the word. His hands seek her out again to bundle her to him. Mouth and nose pressed to the side of Max’s head, Billy holds her maybe too tightly and just breathes her in. Somehow, the gun ends up bouncing across the bed when Max throws it away. She can’t free her hands quickly enough to turn around and paw at him. The cotton on his back slides across Billy’s skin as Max scrambles to hold on, frantic now. His hands seek her, too, and Billy clutches the back of Max’s head as she shakes against him. The fact that Max hasn’t broken down until now, chooses now to gasp into his shoulder where she hides her face, steals Billy’s breaths. But not his words.

“I gotcha, honey, it’s okay,” he whispers to her, not even sure if Max hears him over the little cries she stifles. “I’m right here, Max, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I was so scared,” she chokes out. Her nails dig into his back like she means to climb up him. Max lifts her head from her hiding place, uncaring of her wet eyes and wet cheeks, and whimpers, “I kept thinking you were dead and I was never gonna see you again.”

Billy’s hand slips out of Max’s hair to catch the tremor in her jaw. Paying no mind to the tear tracks wet under his palm, Billy shushes Max as she cries. They stumble closer to the bed, her weight finally putting a strain on Billy’s strength. The gun had bounced up near the headboard. Billy eyes it before he lowers Max to the edge of the mattress and then himself. She’s on him in an instant, not quite climbing into his lap. He welcomes her to it and grapples with her hips under her clothes to just tug Max where they both want her. Max slumps against Billy without a single struggle and wraps her arms around his neck. He’s not held anyone since her. The hot ball of emotion in his throat wants to choke him up, but he won’t let it. Instead, Billy pets Max’s messy hair and just lets her cry.

When Max sniffles and peeks out of her hiding place, Billy closes his eyes at her slow approach, the slight tilt of her head. At first, she pecks fast kisses to the thin bow of Billy’s mouth. Little, desperate things like she thinks he’ll reject her. He remembers these like she’d never left, like a year doesn’t stretch horrible and long between them. Before, Billy would never kiss Max back or touch her. No encouragement was his pledge from the beginning. In case she ever wanted to go home to San Diego, he wouldn’t ruin her childhood. She could look back on her memories of him fondly and know he never touched her. His resolve was solid.

It’s only now when Max pulls back with her hands tight at Billy’s shoulders, whimpering, “Please,” that Billy’s resolve crumbles. Only a little.

Softening the tense line of his mouth, Billy holds Max steady with his hands cupping her waist. No more than this, he tells himself. No rolling them so she’s squashed into the bed beneath him, can’t do anything but squirm while he devours her. No sliding his hands under her shirt to finally dig his fingers into milky skin and freckles. No. None of that. Max hums against him, their lips tingling, and Billy wonders if her freckles spill across her chest. It’s not the first time he’s thought of little breasts smashed against him as Max leans all her weight on him. Billy always allowed himself that but never the soft moan that cries to be heard.

Max kisses across the shadow on Billy’s jaw until she sighs in his ear. The closeness calms her. Max’s head is a familiar weight on Billy’s shoulder, and he adjusts a hand on her to once again pet her. Max’s braid is beyond saving at this point from so much contact. Nothing a comb can’t fix. It’s in the box with the rest of the evidence of her. He couldn’t convince himself to throw it away—couldn’t convince himself to throw her away.

When Max’s hands finally relax on Billy’s back, she nuzzles his shoulder and huffs, “I hate crying.”

“It’s good for you, so I’ve heard.”

Another huff blows against his throat. Max presses her face there next, holds him tightly, and then sits up again. Billy lets her up, knows they can’t just sit here like this all night. The shirt he’d handed her lies forgotten on the floor. He can see it just beyond Max’s slim shoulder.

“Can I take a shower? I feel gross after crying on you.”

Billy’s hands slide away after one more pet, one more squeeze. She can stand up whenever she’s ready.

“You know where everything is. Have at it.”

Max nods but won’t meet Billy’s eyes. She fidgets for a moment, shuffling on his thighs, before finally flicking green-blue eyes up to find his.

“I love you. I’m gonna say it even though you make a face every time I do.”

Billy scoffs, “What face? I don’t make a face.”

“You do too! You look like you’re trying to figure out if you shit yourself or not.” Max rolls her eyes when Billy makes that exact face now. He’d hoped she just never picked up on the slight twitch in his mouth and the wrinkles between his eyebrows. “You can say it back, you know. It’d be nice to hear once in a while. You know, other than when you were bleeding out.”

“How could I forget how much of a brat you are?”

“Billy,” Max groans. She angles a look at him, pleading, “Is it really so hard to just say it? Did you really have to be dying to admit you love me?” When Billy says nothing, just stares at Max with his lips rolled flat, she says, “What if you didn’t say it? You could have died, and I’d never know you loved me back.”

He hates himself when he blurts, “It wouldn’t have mattered, because you wouldn’t have known.”

Billy knows it’s a mistake the moment the words are out. He can’t put a genie back in a bottle, though. Max’s face crumbles at first and then melts into something furious and ugly. It’s easier to twist their emotions into anger. More than once Billy has watched Max gnash her teeth or grind them instead of letting herself feel. He knows the motions all too well.

Popping out of Billy’s lap, Max whips away before Billy catches the wetness of her eyes. Max only stomps a few steps towards the bedroom door, probably to grab her bags and leave, before Billy is on her. He zips from the bed and loops his arms around her. He’s ready for Max’s struggle, the kick of her legs and her crying out for him to stop, to let her go. Billy’s throat is too tight to laugh. It’s the same thing she’d said to him in Lorena’s store. When he caught her snooping around, looking way too casual and greasy to be anything but a homeless kid. Or a runaway. He wasn’t even going to punish her at the time. Just… maybe just ask if she needed help or if she wanted to be brought to a police station. Call her mom. Funny how when he finally scooped Max off the street that Billy couldn’t help but keep her for himself. Lonely and pathetic as always.

“Knock it off,” he grunts in her ear after Max almost rams her heel into his shin. Billy shakes her in his arms, lifts her up until she dances on her toes. “That was a fucked up thing to say, okay, I get it. I’m sorry.”

“You can just tell me if you don’t want me here,” she spits. Her voice is thicker than she probably likes. Max sags in his arms, hands scrambling at her face, and she whimpers, “I’ll go back, just let me go.”

Right arm slung around Max’s hips while the left cuts across her chest, Billy holds the poor girl tightly to him. He catches Max’s whole-body flinch when he presses his mouth to her pale neck. He shouldn’t do this. He’d promised not to encourage her. And yet Billy sighs in the crook of Max’s neck and knows he’s beaten. She flinches again when he kisses her. Just a soft, gentle thing. At first. Max’s hands cling to Billy’s wrists when each kiss after that turns harder, wetter, the edges of teeth sneaking in. Max shakes in his arms and goes slipping on her toes with a moan. Head thrown away, Max offers him everything, anything, and bites back little whimpers when he sucks hard enough to leave a small red spot. It will fade in a matter of hours.

If not for Billy’s arms holding her, Max would be a puddle on the floor. Billy won’t let her go until her feet are under her again. He doesn’t make it easy for her, mouthing soft, slow kisses to the back of Max’s neck. All the peach fuzz on her nape stands on end. It takes everything in Billy to not shiver with her and rub himself on her. When Max had lived here the first time, he managed to resist. All those days with her, the nights she would crawl into his bed until he relented and just let her sleep with him. He resisted all that time. Now, he wants to give in.

“Billy,” Max sighs with a shiver. 

That knocks Billy out of his daze. His arms tighten around Max again but lower her the inch or so she needs to stand on her own. He doesn’t let go of her yet. He’s not finished with her.

A sigh and then, “I love you, you little brat. Are you happy now?”

Max tugs at his hands but doesn’t say anything. Not until he lets her go and she spins back around. She may not grow much taller, eyes level with his jaw now. He wouldn’t mind Max staying smaller than him. She fits him well just like this.

“Say it again. To my face this time.”

Grumble caught in his throat, Billy snaps, “Fine, I love you. Now go take a shower.” Billy reaches out a hand to muss Max’s already messy hair. She hisses and ducks out of reach, closer to the bathroom. Billy snorts at her and adds, “You stink.”

“You’re one to talk, Mister Cigarette Smoke and Burger Grease. You could use a shower, too.”

Before a glint sparks in those mischievous eyes, Billy points to the bathroom and says, “Go.”

Max knows he showers in the morning. Or late, late at night if he can’t sleep. As much as he wants her and wants to give in to this sin, he won’t be joining her in the shower. Most household accidents take place in the bathroom, and he’s had enough accidents for a lifetime. She’ll probably want to see the wound, Billy reckons. Or rather the star-shaped scar left behind. He has a matching, slightly larger scar on his back. Exit wound, a through-and-through. It cost more money to patch Billy up than the shooter got away with. The irony. 

Max sweeps the offered t-shirt off the floor and snaps it a few times to flick debris off it. Holding it up, Max glances to him and asks, “You gonna make me start over and sleep on the couch? Work my way back up to sleeping with you again?”

Billy only steps closer to nudge Max out of his room and to the bathroom door. However long Max showers, Billy will use that time to center himself. To remember his morals and that Max is only 17 at the oldest. She’s almost as old as he was when he was caught with Evelyn. He won’t make that mistake again. Getting carried away and kissing Max, grabbing at her soft body…

Swallowing hard, Billy nudges her again, into the bathroom. He will have to try hard to resist temptation. Because Max grown up a little, with a little more body, more hips, more ass, more tits? She’s the vision of temptation. And he was never any good at being good.

“I’ll think about it.”


End file.
